


who wants to live forever

by AnimeDomo



Series: Monster Hunters [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Blood and Gore, F/M, M/M, Missing Persons, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Burn, Texan Keith (Voltron), Vampires, Violence, Weapons, monster hunting, slowly building a monster hunting team, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-06-07 21:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeDomo/pseuds/AnimeDomo
Summary: Shiro was sure of only two things after the night he lost Matt.One; the thing that had taken his best friend was not human. He didn't know what it was, but he sure knew what it was not.And two; he couldn't possibly kill this thing and save Matt all on his own.





	1. armageddon it

**Author's Note:**

> i don't care that it's only july it's time to gET SPOOKY.
> 
> chapter title in reference to "armageddon it" by def leppard.
> 
> i personally recommend some def leppard with a sprinkling of 'halloween scream theme team' tracks on the side for reading but live your best life. see you on the other side.

Things were getting a little strange in Takashi Shirogane’s tiny dust-bowl hometown in late September of 1985. But, of course, as a self-absorbed seventeen-year-old boy – as many tended to be—Shiro himself didn’t really notice when things were starting to sour till it was in his own backyard.

He didn’t pay much attention to the news reports of the boy who’d gone missing mere streets away the Friday before, simply flipping to the next channel to find a Saturday program that didn’t make him want to gag. He spotted a few police cars skulking the area between the school and the arcade and the old roller rink. Never gave them a second glance as they sped past Matt and him on their walk home.

He should have noticed. He should have paid attention to the news – the same story of the same missing kid every night for a week, then two, growing in worry and urgency – and the police warnings across the bottom of news channels, the sudden influx in cop cars patrolling the city, the anxious and awkward way adults seemed to be carrying themselves.

Instead he gossiped with Matt in study hall about how he (theoretically) would ask the head cheerleader to Homecoming when he was pretty sure that the girl didn’t even know his name. Instead he and Matt snuck beers from the Holt’s fridge and giggled over yearbooks from middle school. Instead they went to the video store every other night to rent low-quality sci-fi and cheesy horror movies. Flirting with the bored senior girl behind the check out that always wore black lipstick and told them to pay their damn late fees. The world was simpler.

-

It was Friday. It had been two weeks since Kyle Roland disappeared walking home. Matt and Shiro once again found themselves trekking to the video rental store to return the copy of “Spacehunters” Katie had insisted on during their last trip, and maybe get their hands on The Evil Dead. It was a chilly night, the sun already so far behind the trees and buildings on the horizon that everything was cast in muted greys and purples – a soft but strange light that reminded Shiro of the classic horror movies he loved. A comfortable twilight. The street lights were spaced a little too far apart, the bulbs a little too weak to make much of a difference this late on a fall evening, but the moon was bright enough for them to make due. A sharp breeze followed the two teenagers down the street with a flutter of multi-colored leaves.

“So are you actually gonna do it?” Matt jabbed his bony little elbow into Shiro’s side, almost jostling him off the sidewalk. Shiro laughed, shoved him away. Pulled his jacket tighter around himself and grinned. He felt good. Content.

“I don’t know, man. I’m telling you – she doesn’t even know who I am.”

Matt rolled his eyes, bumping shoulders with him again. “It’s not that big of a school. Besides, you’re not a total loser. Just introduce yourself. Oh!” Matt snapped his fingers. “Use that smile that you always pull on the secretary when you try to get out of a tardy write-up. She’ll swoon.”

Shiro felt his face heat up at the call-out. He very knew what he was doing every time he had to sweet-talk Ms. Harper, the fresh-out-of-college hire that the high school had manning the front desk of the school office. But knowing that he was _that_ obvious made him cringe. He knocked Matt with his shoulder a second time. “Shut up! I don’t… _do that_.”

Matt scoffed. “Yeah and I don’t have a man-crush on Freddie Mercury. You’re such a liar!”

Shiro opened his mouth, prepared with a snide comment about Queen just to rile his friend up – when he heard it. A noise that hadn’t been there before in the background of their bickering. An unnatural sound. Almost a snarl, like a vicious animal, coming from the thicket of trees that separated their route on the sidewalk from the parks on their immediate left. A dark and dense wall of plant life, Shiro couldn’t see much, but he halted his steps so he could try to listen more closely over the crunch of their shoes on the crumbling sidewalk.

It grew louder for a fraction of a second before stopping as fast as it had begun. So quick Shiro could almost believe that’d completely hallucinated the entire moment after a few late nights studying for his chem test. Matt stopped as he realized Shiro had fallen behind.

“You good?” He asked, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised.

“Did you hear anything?” Shiro pointed at the tree line, the thick branches with their yellowing leaves stretching over their heads. Matt cast a confused glance around, shuffling closer to the trees. He gave Shiro an incredulous look behind his round-frame glasses.

“Wind maybe? A skunk? I didn’t really hear anything, but we can’t all have fuckin’ bat hearing like you.” Shiro rolled his eyes at the jab, deciding to let the moment go. If Matt didn’t hear anything it was probably just his exhausted, teenage lizard brain replacing real life with some horror flick he’d caught on the late-night channels recently. Nothing to lose his head over.

He crossed the distance Matt had pulled away before the two meandered onwards. They weren’t even at the end of the block before Shiro stopped in his tracks again – this time, rustling. Something sharp crunching, then snapping.

“What now?” Matt griped.

Shiro listened for a moment longer, but nothing else moved. An animal, he told himself. Just a skunk or a raccoon. This half of the parkland fed down into the forest by old 45, acres upon acres of untouched, state-owned land. Plenty of reasonable explanations for weird noises in the trees. But none of this reasoning stopped the cold chill that ripped through Shiro so violently that his shoulders shook with the quick convulsion. He rolled them back once, grabbing Matt’s arm to pull him further down the sidewalk, away from whatever it was. But whatever it was seemed to be following them.

“What is wrong with you?” Matt asked, only half-mocking. Behind his glasses he looked hesitant, concerned. Shiro just tried to keep them walking.

“I just keep hearing stuff,” he muttered.

Matt pulled his arm away but kept pace. His smile was easy-going. “I’m telling you, it’s just an animal,” he reassured.

Shiro shook his head as if it was that easy to dispel the queasiness that had settled over him. “I know, it’s just giving me the skeeves. Let’s just hurry up, okay? My skin’s crawling.” He rubbed his right hand over his left arm, hoping the rough fabric of his canvas jacket would fight off the goosebumps crawling over his skin.

At the end of the block they’d just have to book it across the street, over the bridge that led to the highway ramp, and then they’d be in the corporate limits. The video store would be in sight. It looked like trying to cross eternity from where they were standing.

He heard it again. Rustling. A breath whispering through the branches that Shiro desperately told himself was a gust of early fall wind. It made him pause, only for a moment to look over his shoulder – wide eyed and tense. Matt noticed and fell back so they were side by side.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out.” Matt admitted, palms up as if in surrender.

“Let’s just go – “

“No way, I’m gonna _prove_ to you, Shirogane, that there’s nothing there. We have to walk back this way, you know.” Matt laughed. The entirety of it was a joke from Matt’s standing, but something in Shiro clawed. Screamed. It didn’t feel right. His body wanted to run. His gut was pleading with him to stop what was about to happen.

Matt wandered up to the tree line, reaching between some of the lower branches to part them. Shiro nearly screamed. No no no no it wasn’t right, something felt off. He was terrified. Before Shiro could reach out, Matt leaned in, almost standing in the shadows of the close nesting oaks and shrubbery. He peeked around the trunks and over the tops of the dying bushes, combing through the darkness for something.

He turned his head to smile at Shiro over his shoulder. Gloating. Matt loved being right. This was probably the one time Shiro _wanted_ him to be right. “See?”

Shiro did see. With Matt’s focus all on Shiro, Shiro himself was the only one to see the sharp lines of a humanoid face peer out from deep within the thicket. See the flash of something separate from the shadows and reach out to sink into Matt’s shoulder and arm with a fleshy sound. Matt screamed, a piercing noise Shiro had never heard before, as he was dragged, stumbling, into the trees.

“Matt! Fuck,” Shiro threw himself after his best friend, tripping over roots and feeling out the rough bark of his surroundings as he dashed after the sound of fallen branches and shifting leaves. A lower rustle, like the sound of something being dragged. Matt screamed again, sounding pained, and Shiro called for him. He followed the noise blindly, breath coming so hard it almost drowned out the pounding in his ears.

Shiro called his name again, and this time Matt answered with Shiro’s own – high pitch and strained, pleading, but not far. Only feet away, behind this oak – 

There was the snarl again. A noise so deep, so hungry, it petrified Shiro. He froze, one hand steadying him against a tree and the other reaching out to where his best friend was half-crumpled, on his back, in a bed of shadows between two decaying oaks. Through the darkening violet of dusk he could make out Matt’s terrified eyes, the blood splatter on his pale face, and the creature that was hovering over him in a crouch – it’s unnatural eyes on Shiro.

Pale enough to stand out from the shadows, it looked almost humanoid to pass – but it’s limbs were long, bent oddly as if it’s joints twisted differently, and its jaw appeared to sit unhinged from it’s skull, hairless and as unnaturally shaped as the rest of it’s visible body. There wasn’t enough light to discern much more in his frenzied state, but Shiro was more than sure that the sparse moonlight to be found helped display the unnaturally long, multiple rows of fangs that sat within its jaw. Shiro prayed to every god he ever knew that he was hallucinating. Ate too many of Hunk’s brownies. Fell and hit his head so hard it conjured up another dimension. Anything more reasonable than what was staring him in the face.

“What the actual fuck,” Shiro wheezed, stumbling back a step as the creature seemed to rock forward on its haunches. He muttered it again to himself as he watched the thing sink it’s claws further into Matt’s shoulder like a nervous twitch, jostling him and eliciting a pained groan. Matt tried to roll away, to get out from under the thing that was caging him in with it’s body, but it simply dragged Matt back. His friend whimpered, whispered his name as his eyes sought him out.

Shiro felt his eyes water, his chest tighten. His limbs felt cold. None of this felt real. He realized he had no weapon. No means of defending himself or Matt. He couldn’t leave him, would never even consider such a thing, and judging by the quickness it had grabbed Matt he wasn’t sure he could outrun it if he tried.

“Fuck,” Shiro ground his teeth, trying to eye the trails between the trees to find something – anything – that could help them without agitating the thing into attack. It seemed defensive, almost curious, and if that was the one thing keeping it from stealing Matt away to god-knows-where then he didn’t want to risk any sudden movements.

“Go, Shiro! Hurry!” Matt screamed and the creature tore it’s eyes from Shiro to snap its jaws over Matt’s face – a command, a threat. Shiro stooped while it was distracted, swiping a modestly sized chunk of rock from a twist of overgrown roots.

The creature’s eyes snapped up to his again – pupils a mere pinprick among the reds and yellows of its iris – and Matt screamed. “Shiro!”

Shiro raised his arm, tense and preparing to just haul ass – hope it would surprise the creature long enough for him to separate it from Matt, give them a chance to escape.

“ _Behind you!_ ” Something thick, solid, and fucking _heavy_ made contact with the back of Shiro’s head and sent him sprawling forwards in the dirt. The pain was so sharp that the last thing on his mind was the fact that he was now a mere foot from the thing that had his friend. His vision swam but he could see Matt, pale and terrified – mouth wide open in a scream that Shiro couldn’t hear as he reached out towards him.

Shiro thought he reached out for him too, but the damned thing had begun dragging Matt away through the dirt and roots. Shiro’s vision was darkening, the trees around him circling closer and closer as he tried to keep his eyes on Matt. But the shadows pressed down on him, too heavy for even his eyes to stay open, and something wet was dripping down his neck. His stomach lurched and acid burned the back of his mouth, as if he was about to vomit into the dirt. He tried to fight his way up onto his elbows but his body was having a difficult time responding.

Two large, black boots crossed in front of Shiro’s tunneling vision. One slid forward, hooking under his shoulder and kicking him onto his back. He was sure the back of his head cracked open at the impact. The ringing in his ears intensified, and he threw his head to the side as bile rose in the back of his throat once more. He was sure something was said, but it was lost to the waves of piercing sound. He lolled his head to the other side, trying to see who was hovering over him. His eyes traced the boots upwards – 

One of those boots came down against his face and there was a sickening _crack_. Shiro was sure he screamed, but it was muffled by the blood in his nose and mouth, pouring down in warm drops that gagged him. Disoriented and aching, he let his head fall back to the side. His eyes closed once more, and this time he didn’t open them.

Everything was dark and cold.

-

It was far too fucking bright when he finally came-to, and the fact that he wasn’t A.) dead or B.) in the middle of the woods _almost_ dead baffled him.

He took a few moments to work himself up a tolerance for the painful white ceiling above him, and slowly began to register the beeping of monitors close to his ears. The bustle of people just outside his door. His limbs were stiff as if he hadn’t moved in ages. When he finally succeeded in lifting his left arm into view he found the clear tubing of an IV taped to his hand, a band-aid covering the needle’s entry point. Despite all the pieces of the puzzle being almost literally in his lap, it took a few long minutes to realize that he was in a hospital. His mind was about a sluggish as his body. Every thought took a joule of energy that he didn’t have to give.

Hospitals were their own type of Hell. This didn’t entirely rule out the possibility that he _was_ dead and he was finally being punished for all his lewd thoughts and that piece of bubblegum he stole from the supermarket when he was six.

A nurse peeked into his room, eyes going wide as they made eye contact, and immediately began calling for others further down the hall.

A doctor and a few nurses in cartoon-themed scrubs circled around his bed. Shiro felt both rude and vulnerable, laying there while everyone stared him down, and attempted to struggle up into a sitting position. Eventually the red-headed nurse took pity on him and helped. Moving any part of his body ached in ways Shiro didn’t even know it could, but worst of all his head felt as if it would split open if he just leaned the wrong way. The back of his skull throbbed but his nose burned as if he’d run headfirst into concrete.

The brunette nurse handed the doctor some paperwork, and she shuffled through them a few moments before finally looking at Shiro himself. Her smile was bright, almost encouraging. “Glad to see you’re finally awake, Mr. Shirogane.”

Shiro’s eyebrows flew up. “How long have I been here?”

“From the time you were found to now,” she glanced down at her clipboard. “Two days.”

“Two days?” He echoed, more irritable than he’d intended. The doctor appeared very interested. She took a deep breath, twisting part of her blond fringe and tucking it back into her ponytail. Watching him carefully.

“You were in quite a state when they brought you in,” She started, speaking gently as if to calm an anxious child. Checked the clipboard again. Flipped a pristine page. “Broken nose, a grade-3 concussion, orbital and nasalis contusions.”

Hearing what had happened to him and experiencing it were two very different worlds. The doctor read him his record with a clinical detachedness, as if what he went through was simple and mundane. As if she sees it all the time. Like it was simply a routine in the world’s happenings. As if Shiro hadn’t been laying, bleeding and in pain and terrified, in the dark.

He felt a surge of irritation but reasoned with himself it was the concussion making him irritable. And this bright-ass room with the curtains thrown as wide open as possible.

As Shiro began counting in his head to regain some semblance of control over his emotions, the doctor continued. “Do you remembered what happened, Shiro?”

He sighed, letting his eyes shut. He stopped his internal countdown at zero. The surprise at his condition had worn off and all he wanted now was a nap. He was somehow alive, and bone-deep exhausted, and that was really all he had to work with right now while he was strung up in this bed. “Bits and pieces. My head hurts.”

“Can you tell me?” She prompted, seeming nonchalant. They could’ve been talking about the weather for all the intensity he had. He wondered how she would have handled that night, that _thing_.

“My friend and I were attacked.” Shiro refused to open his eyes again. He told himself it was because the room was too bright, not because the panic he had felt when he saw his best friend get taken had resurfaced. He felt helpless. He hurt all over, he had no idea what had happened to Matt, and he was completely and utterly fucking _helpless_.

The doctor seemed to catch on to the hitch in his tone. “Your mother is here. We’ll let her know you’re awake now. If you need anything, just page.”

He heard the footsteps fade out into the hallway, the soft click of the door falling shut again. The hospital traffic was muffled just enough for him to doze into a nightmare – a replay of Matt’s terrified, agonized screaming, of how the dark pressed in and seemed to suffocate him, at how that monster had stared into his eyes so unwaveringly. 

He heard when his mother entered sometime later. A flurry of clicking heels, sudden hands on his face and her pleading voice dragging him from his strange dream of inhuman faces. He was thankful for the wake-up call.

“Oh, Takashi,” she settled on the edge of his bed. She looked unkempt; dark hair falling out of her bun, her signature red-lipstick absent. Her eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark shadows. She pulled him into a hug, but the angle was awkward. He tried to wrap his stiff arms around her small frame but his body just didn’t want to work with him today. Every muscle screamed.

She suddenly pulled away. Held him at arms-length for a long moment before cupping his aching jaw in her small hands. She looked as if she might start crying again and honestly, Shiro wasn’t sure he could mentally or emotionally handle watching his mother have her own breakdown right now.

“What happened?” She asked softly. She bit her lower lip to stop it’s trembling. “Some hikers found you in the woods Saturday morning. What _happened_ , Takashi?”

“Matt and I were attacked,” his voice broke on Matt’s name. His mother’s torn expression crumpled further.

He couldn’t save him. He had been right there, mere feet away, and he couldn’t help him.

“Has anyone found him?”

His mother ignored him, smoothing her hands across his shoulders. “Who attacked you, Takashi? Did you know them? Did you see their face?”

“No, I – It’s not that simple. I don’t know _what_ attacked us. It… that thing wasn’t human.”

She sat up a little straighter, searching his face. He could see her growing concerned. “Honey, you’re not making sense.”

“It wasn’t a person! I can’t explain it. It was… It was terrifying. Mom, has anyone found Matt?”

She hesitated, and that alone made him feel like his heart shattered, like it had splintered out of his chest and disintegrated. “No, not yet, honey.”

-

Another 12 hours and a few scans gave him the okay to finally return home. While his mom was packing up his things, he tried to use the hospital line to call his father. It rang four, five, six times – before Shiro gave up and sat the off-white receiver back in its cradle with a heavy heart.

Upon his release from the hospital, he was requested to meet with the Sheriff and the Holt’s, to explain what happened the night Matt disappeared and give a statement. Provide any clues to help move the case along. The thought terrified Shiro; what if the Holt’s blamed him, what if they hated him for not being able to help Matt?

Part of him agreed that they should. Part of him hated himself too.

But when he stepped into the station with his mother gripping his elbow so hard her knuckles were white, he saw the Holt’s from across the room – they stood, rushing to his side. Mrs. Holt enveloped him in a hug that immediately made him want to sob. “We’re so glad you’re okay, dear,” she told him softly. She fixed the collar of his shirt and smoothed back his hair. Shiro took a deep breath of the floral perfume she always wore, an early childhood memory that pierced him deeper than he thought it would – whispered an apology into the shoulder of her red blouse that fell on deaf ears. Dr. Holt clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into a side hug, and it made him miss his father all the more.

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve them. What if they could never find Matt? What if he was already gone, because Shiro had been a fucking coward?

The three adults spoke with a man at the front desk before leading the group back into one of the conference rooms. Shiro could feel people’s eyes on him. It was a small enough town that word got around fast, and the nearly black bruising on his face was a dead give-away.

Katie, who had been hovering off to the side while everyone fussed, fell into step beside Shiro. All the tears and hugs seemed to make her uncomfortable. Matt always joked that she had better interpersonal relationships with computer systems than people and her future husband was going to be a ham radio.

“Hey,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. Her hands were tucked up in the pocket of her hoodie, and Shiro recognized it to be an old green piece of Matt’s. They had bought a packet of iron-on’s from a corner store last summer and this particular hoodie was sporting the NASA logo Matt was so fond off. The image just brought a new round of tears to Shiro’s eyes.

He rubbed them away as fast as they had appeared. “Hey.”

“Do you actually know where Matt is?” She asked. Shiro took a long moment to answer as they followed their parents and a few cops into the back hall. Did he have any clue where that thing might have come from, or where it could have taken him? He wasn’t even sure what it was. He had no clues to lead him. He was useless. He shook his head, and Katie glanced away, looking disappointed.

“Alright,” the Sheriff settled into a seat opposite of Shiro and his mother. The Holt’s sat in a cluster off to his right, clutching hands. The Sheriff was an older man, probably in his fifties, with grey around the temples. He reminded Shiro a bit of his grandfather, with his gruff smoker’s voice and white-whisker stubble. His name-tag read ‘Carson’ in shining black letters. “Can you tell me where you were and who you were with the night of September 20th?”

“I was with Matt. Matt Holt,” he nodded over at the Holt’s as if it wasn’t clear who just “Matt” was, then realized how stupid that was. “We were walking down Vine Street, going to the video rental place.” The Sheriff seemed to wait for something. Shiro took a deep breath and spoke slowly, each syllable painful. “We didn’t make it to the video store.”

“What happened while you were walking to the store?”

“I kept hearing noises from the wood line. Sounded weird. Matt kept saying it was an animal,” he trailed off. He wished he had listened. Had just kept walking. Had run across the bridge, jay-walked across the intersection. Anything that would have gotten them away from that damned thing. But would it really had made a difference? How long had that thing been following them, he had to wonder.

“What kind of noises?”

“Just, rustling. Twigs snapping. That sort of thing. It sounded right next to us. Like it was following us.” Shiro thought he heard a sniffle from Mrs. Holt. His mother took his hand, squeezing it and nodding to him to continue. “Matt thought I was being dumb, messing around. I don’t know. But he wanted to prove I was just hearing things. He walked up to the tree line and stepped inside to look around.”

Here, Shiro’s heart seized. A sudden influx of adrenaline as he recalled the eyes that stared out at them as if they were prey. Hands sinking into his best friend’s arm and wrestling him away with inhuman speed. The way Matt _screamed_ …

“And then?” The Sheriff prompted. Another squeeze to his hand. The room was silent, waiting on bated breath as Shiro swallowed around the pit in his throat.

“This… thing. Came out of nowhere. It was just suddenly there. It grabbed Matt and dragged him into the woods. I tried to follow but it was so dark.” Shiro paused to swipe at his eyes. He felt the panic settle high in his chest but was determined to tell everything he could. To do anything he could to help them find Matt. “I found him, and that thing was crouched over him like, like some kind of animal. I was going to try to hit it with a rock to get Matt away from it, but something smashed me over the back of the head and everything got blurry.”

“I don’t understand, son,” the Sheriff stopped writing to look up at Shiro, his hands steeped in front of him. “Did you see who grabbed your friend?”

“It wasn’t a _person_ ,” Shiro snapped. No one seemed to listen and it was exasperating.

“Then just what was it?” Sherriff Carson seemed to be mocking him. As if he didn’t know what he was talking about even though he had been the one there in the dark, staring that _thing_ in the eyes.

“Look, I don’t _know_ , okay? I get it, it sounds crazy. But this thing was pale with long arms and red eyes and fangs and it’s jaw just,” Shiro paused again, his hands coming up to gesture at his own face in a pull-down motion, trying to find how to properly articulate the unnatural angle of it’s mandible.

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ,” Carson waved a dismissive hand before rubbing his temple. He looked about as tired as Shiro felt, but his tone was hostile. It had Shiro’s hackles raised. “Did you see who hit you at all?”

Shiro shook his head a little. “All I remember is seeing black boots, like biker boots.”

The Sherriff scribbled on his notepad again. “Well that’s something,” he muttered. A long moment passed with the only sound being the scratching of his pen, before Shiro burst.

“You don’t believe me, do you.” It wasn’t a question. The man in front of him leveled him with a poisonous stare.

“Look kid, this ain’t ‘Night of the Living Dead’ here,” he snapped. Shiro heard someone stand and exit the room, one of the Holt’s. Maybe all of the Holt’s, disgusted at his cowardly behavior and incompetence. Shiro didn’t know. But he couldn’t tear his stare away from the Sherriff’s cold, dark eyes. His mother squeezed his hand a little too hard, her free hand smoothing over his shoulder.

She probably thought he was fucking crazy, too.

“You’re going to let my best friend die because _you_ don’t believe what I _saw_!”

The man slammed his hands on the table and stood, towering over Shiro. “No, if your friend ends up dead it’s because you’re in here, wasting our time tellin’ us campfire stories!”

Shiro jumped to his feet. He couldn’t let them just write him off, just throw his testimony away and risk Matt’s life just because the truth was a little stranger than fiction. Shiro knew how he sounded, knew how difficult it was to accept, but he also knew he’d never get the image of that thing crouching over his best friend’s injured body out of his brain. He can’t forgive himself. The least he can do is fight to make sure Matt was found, one way or another.

But his mother had her arms around him, leading him out the door. The Holt’s were gone. If they didn’t hate him before, they surely did now; making up stories, wasting precious time when Matt was still out there with that _thing_. Why didn’t anyone understand?

Shiro dug his heels in, wanting to go back. Wanting to plead and beg and bargain for someone to listen. To take him seriously. To help him save his best friend. His mother pushed him towards the glass doors in the front. Nodded to the man at the front desk as they passed.

“You look exhausted, honey. Let’s go home.”

-

It had only been 10 hours since Shiro had met with the Sherriff, and he had slept for most of it. He was no longer at risk with his concussion, and he took full advantage of the fact that being passed out was the only way to quiet his mind anymore. He was sure the sleep-aid he had snuck out of his mother’s medicine cabinet helped ease it all along, also. He was picking at a questionable looking fruit cup from the back of the fridge at the kitchen table when there was a knock at the front door. It was late, and his mother had already gone to bed. It seemed Shiro’s anxiety and stress was wearing off on her.

Cautiously, he crept up to the front door, leaning one hand against the faded white paint to peer out the peephole. 

Katie Holt stood on the front porch, shuffling awkwardly. She kept glancing behind her and then back at the door. Shiro assumed that Katie hadn’t turned into a humanoid monster-creature overnight, and opened the door.

She looked exhausted. Katie had a bad habit of overworking herself – a Holt family trait – but this seemed to be a brand of its own. Dark purple bruises under each eye betraying how little she’d slept recently; her skin tone sickly under the porch light. She looked like she might pass out at any moment.

“Katie? Are you okay?” He whispered, almost feeling as though speaking too loudly or moving too fast would spook her.

“Can I come in?” She asked. She shifted her weight from foot to foot again, pleading with her warm brown eyes. It dawned on Shiro in that moment how much Katie looked like her brother. Shiro idly wondered to himself how many times his heart could break before he himself would just physically shatter.

He stepped to the side, and she slipped past him. After tossing his unfinished dinner in the bin he led her upstairs to his room so they wouldn’t bother his mother. Katie took a moment to study the posters on his wall – Return of the Living Dead promo art, a Queen album art collage with tour dates, photos from Voyageur 1 that he and Matt had spent a whole Saturday at the library printing onto the nicest cardstock they could afford.

“Never been in your room before. It’s weird,” she muttered, perching on his desk chair.

Shiro wanted so badly to joke around, make some silly comeback and treat the moment like when he, Matt, and Katie would spend Friday nights playing games and bantering back and forth like children. Like family. But he was heavy with guilt and confusion, and a healthy dosage of fear. He couldn’t pretend that things were that simple anymore. “Why’re you here, Katie? Figured you and your parents would hate me,” he admitted. 

She shook her head, long brunette ponytail slipping out from where she had tucked it into her hood. “They don’t hate you, they just think you’re… unwell. Traumatized, I guess. They’re worried. And they want Matt back,” she trailed off, eyes on the grey carpet.

“And you?” Shiro prompted. She didn’t look up, just shook her head again. Eyebrows furrowed. The gears were turning. She was picking her words carefully, and Shiro wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not, given the circumstances.

“I don’t hate you. I’m… confused,” she said. Shiro thought maybe some part of him would rest easier, if he knew the Holt’s still accepted him into their fold. If they didn’t blame him like they should. But nothing changed. Matt was still gone, Shiro was still clueless, and his closest friends and family thought he was insane. 

“Tell me again,” she said, bold and confident like the Katie Holt he always knew. She was thinking something, following a line Shiro couldn’t see. Her surety startled him.

“Huh?”

“Tell me again, what you saw. What took Matt.”

“You guys keep asking like I understand what the fuck even happened.” He ran a hand through the long fluff of his undercut. Felt the scabs and bumps along the back of his head and grimaced. The physical evidence kept reminding him that this wasn’t all just some fucked up dream or bad drug trip. This nightmare was really happening. His chest felt tight again.

“Just try,” Katie told him. She stared him down, shifting as if she was physically preparing herself for what Shiro was going to say. He sighed, heavy and deep, and drew on the horrors of his memory to explain to Katie just how insane it all was. The red and yellow eyes, the claws, the fangs, the strange and lumbering body that moved almost quicker than Shiro’s eyes could follow. He gave her all the information he could recall, every scrap and piece he hadn’t wanted to divulge in front of Matt’s parents.

He held nothing back and she listened, fist pressed against her mouth in concentration. He felt a little more insane each moment that she let him ramble on. Her stare was unwavering as she processed, almost as unnerving as the creature’s eyes on him.

“It was like watching an old horror movie... I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t human and it wasn’t an animal. It was something else entirely. I… don’t know what to do,” he ended, hunching up his shoulders. He was at such a loss. With no clues and everyone in their tiny fishbowl world pointing fingers back at him, no matter how many times he tried to tell them the truth, Shiro didn’t know where to turn. He rubbed at his eyes. They were burning again, but he wasn’t sure if they were tears or just from general exhaustion. Katie didn’t answer for a few long, excruciating minutes.

“You think I’m crazy too,” he muttered into the rough heels of his palms, pressing them into his eyes to quell the tears he felt rising. Maybe he was insane, maybe he did make it all up. Perhaps he just couldn’t cope with what he saw and his mind tossed in some long-forgotten monster from a film he’d watched to make it easier, more manageable for his fragile state.

“No. I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

Shiro’s head snapped up, painfully wide-eyed and anxious. Did someone actually believe him? Would someone actually help him find Matt? Something caught in the back of his throat. An overbearing emotion he couldn’t fight off. All the anxiety and fear since that night coming to a head and collapsing on him at the thought that maybe – just maybe – this wasn’t hopeless and he wasn’t alone.

“I trust you, Shiro. You’re probably the most responsible, honest person I’ve met. Maybe even more so than Matt. And if you say that’s what you saw take him, then I trust what you saw.” She wrapped her small hand around his forearm, squeezing in reassurance like his mother did to remind him that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere. The action made his bottom lip tremble. “You’re _not_ crazy. We just need to find a way to prove it.”

Shiro collapsed in on himself, doubling over to rest his forehead against Katie’s arm as his sobs shook his shoulders. Katie shifted, wrapping him up in a hug as best she could, and Shiro let himself fall apart.


	2. don't stand so close to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know a guy named Keith?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: "i want to see my little boy"  
> mothman, carrying Keith in his arms: "here he comes"
> 
> title in reference to "don't stand so close to me" by the police
> 
> personally i listen to the "s p a c e t r i p retrowave mix" on youtube a lot while i write this and eoiwy. a+ synthwave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shiro’s mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs like a specter, makeup fixed pristine and hair curled for her office job, staring up at her son incredulously. She wrapped one hand around the wooden banister, one hand resting on her hip, and waited as Shiro zipped up his bookbag. He moved with care, treading gingerly. For all the trauma the doctor’s claimed him to be carrying after his encounter, it was truly him handling his mother like glass in the aftermath rather than the other way around.

“School?” He rolled his shoulders up in a shrug, the gesture screaming “duh” as if the answer was painfully obvious.

She quickly shook her head. “Uh-uh, no way.”

“Mom—“

She held up a hand, cutting him off. His eyes found a spot over her shoulder as he felt his irritation rise. He tried to remind himself that she had been terrified after what happened, too. “It’s only been two days since you got out of the hospital. You need rest.”

“I _need_ to go to school,” he bit back. Immediately felt awful for snapping and backpedaled. Looked into her soft grey eyes, pleading, trying to make her understand through her own fear what was clawing at the inside of his head. “I feel like I’m going to go crazy just staying in the house all day,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. It was the truth – it gave him too much time to think about Matt, about the thing that took him, what could be happening to him while he was stuck laying in bed thumbing through old comics all day at his mother’s behest. But he had other, somewhat more pressing reasons.

Such as the school having a computer lab, open to all students and faculty for use in the pursuit of knowledge.

His mother took a long moment to appraise him. Eyes full of what Shiro thought might be pity at her only son’s plight. Something she saw in his face finally made her crumple, turning away with a reluctant sigh. Surrendering against her maternal judgement. 

“Fine, but I’m driving you. I don’t want you walking anymore, alright?”

Shiro smiled. Blinding, only partially insincere. “Of course, mom.”

-

Katie found him already in the computer lab during his morning study hall session. It didn’t take much to weasel a pass out of Mr. Barnes. Everyone seemed to be treating him like chipped china – as if he’d shatter if they spoke too boldly in his presence or looked too closely at his harsh edges. Every time he caught someone staring at the bruising across his face – a teacher who’d lost their train of thought at the visual, a well-meaning friend that couldn’t look him in the eyes, a stranger without any decency across the hallway – he wanted to scream till his vocal chords shredded like tissue paper. He felt like he’d been caged and left on display.

He looked like shit. Everyone was surprised he had come back to school so soon. He was the newest pity case. He fucking _got it._

He’d asked Katie to meet him in the computer lab during study hall when they’d crossed paths in the hallway between classes. He couldn’t stop the small shock of surprise he felt when he saw her walk in, as if she might have changed her mind within the last few days. Decided he was crazy along with his mother and Sheriff Carson.

But she made a beeline straight for him, dropping her bag under the desks and dragging a chair up to sit a little behind him. A little aggressive, a little determined. It set him at ease, her not tip-toeing around him like a spooked animal. 

“Welcome back, space cadet. What are you working on?” She asked, shuffling closer.

Shiro caught her reflection in the black background of the web page he was scrolling through, and nearly jumped.

She looked so damn much like Matt. A little carbon-copy. An unhealthy reminder. His heart constricted at the familiar slope of her nose and wild nest of auburn hair before he could drag himself back to the present. 

She was leaning over his shoulder, scrutinizing his choice of light-reading with unmasked skepticism. He couldn’t blame her. It looked like it was created by someone their age, maybe younger, who spent too many nights watching Peter Vincent’s late-night movies. Dripping blood and cult graphics, a “satanic” goat head for good measure in the header; a wall of white text giving detail about the feeding habits of vampires, the transformation cycle of werewolves in New England (apparently it differed by region), and how the government was hiding the creation of zombies from the public because it was caused by an accidental chemical spill.

“Trying to find a starting point,” he huffed, feeling a little embarrassed. He leaned back, popping his shoulders. Ran his hands through his undercut and roughed up the dark fluff in exasperation. “I don’t even know what the hell it was. How are we supposed to figure out how to find it without knowing what we’re looking for? And even if, by some bullshit luck, we stumble across the damn thing – how’re we gonna kill it? We’ll just be walking into a death trap.”

“All fair points, but I don’t think,” Katie paused, leaning forward to read the page url, “bloodsuckersofthenight.com is gonna help us much in either case.”

Shiro craned his neck to look at his companion, eyebrows raised. “You got a better idea, Pidge?”

It slipped out before he could stop himself – old habits and whatnot. She flinched at the nickname. Pressed her lips together and kept her gaze from meeting Shiro’s. He immediately felt like garbage for using the nickname Matt had made up for her, the one that only he used -- with Shiro as an occasional honorary member by Matt’s decree. It probably just reminded her of how Matt was gone, and Shiro couldn’t imagine how much she was hurting. He was sure his pain didn’t compare.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Turned back to face the webpage and shamefully stared at her reflection, not quite sure what he was waiting for. For her to denounce him and his insane chase, to give him the lashing he deserved for letting this all transpire to begin with.

He saw her nod to herself, a quiet little sigh escaping her as she stood. 

“No, it’s fine. Call me Pidge. And when we find Matt I’ll beat the shit out of him for ever telling you that name,” she said. She sounded sure. As if there was no doubt in her mind that she’d get the chance to deliver one of her legendary right hooks for the stupid name he had stuck her with since elementary school. It made Shiro feel a little steadier. He was thankful to have her support him as they fumbled their way through this. It didn’t ebb his guilt much, however.

“I do have an idea, though,” she continued. She hooked one strap of her bookbag over her shoulder as Shiro turned his body to face her, his guilt falling to the wayside in lieu of coming up with a plan of action. “Forget this shit. Do you know a guy named Keith? I can’t remember his last name.”

“Keith?” Shiro wracked his brain, swiping through every face from school he could remember and matching it to a name; but Keith didn’t strike any bells. It may have not been a large school, but it sure as hell wasn’t small, either. He easily bypassed at least half the student body daily.

Shiro shook his head. “No, can’t say I do. Feel like I’d remember with a name like ‘Keith.’ What grade is he?”

“Sophomore, right between us. You may have never met him but he’s in my pre-calculus class.”

“Okay, you’re both math nerds. But what’s your point? Can he use algorithms to track a monster or something?”

“I can’t answer for that, but I heard a lot of rumors a while back. Like, last year.” She dropped her voice, a conspiratorial whisper between the desks they were hidden in. “Apparently he’s into some really occult shit. His dad too.”

Shiro gripped the back of his chair so hard that his knuckles stared to pale under the strain. This could be an 'In', a way to reorient themselves to whatever it was they were actually looking for. With Shiro and Pidge it was just the blind leading the blind, but if this kid had any actual information on supernatural creatures, any possible guidance or ideas at all…

“Do you think he’d help us? Do you think maybe he can help us identify what it was?” Shiro felt a little desperate, clinging to the wood under his fingertips. Pidge grinned. Her smile was a little menacing. 

“I don’t know, but it’s probably a better shot than reading through the bloodsuckersofthenight anthology here.”

Shiro let out a laugh that surprised even him. A couple kids further down the row looked up from their screens to gawk before he caught their eye and they hastily turned away.

The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on him, but beggars can’t be choosers. He was willing to try anything if it would give him any ideas of where he could find Matt and how he could help him. Every moment they hesitated was a moment Matt was in danger.

Shiro closed out of the browser, signing off the terminal. The screen went dark. The main login bar split their weary reflections in two. “Well let’s find your buddy Keith, then,” he smiled.

-

When Pidge had told Shiro that Keith was rumored to be into the occult, a very specific image came to mind.

Maybe in with the goth crowd, or a stoner with just a little too much visionary exploration, dressed all in black and fishnets and hissing at people who passed too close. Shiro was only mildly ashamed of how far he had jumped to conclusions; he had met living, breathing examples and there was something extremely uncomfortable about having a guy who was trying to have his first name legally changed to “Nevermore” hiss at you while you were trying to get another beer at an acquaintance’s house party.

He didn’t like to hang out at Sen’s anymore.

“That’s him,” Pidge pointed past Shiro in the lunch line to a table near the windows across the room. From their vantage point Shiro could only see a bunch of what appeared to be normal, mundane kids quietly eating lunch. A few were reading books, some studying, only a few seated in pairs. The table was a bit of a rag-tag group of all sorts. He couldn’t figure out which one Pidge meant, so he gestured for her to lead the way. 

She took off with Shiro following as closely as he could, and the two stopped in front of a dark-haired boy pouring over a physics book at the center of the long table. He was in jeans and a dark blue flannel, dark sneakers. Shiro didn’t see much remarkable about him. Of all the possibilities he could have imagined for a teenager dabbling in the occult, this kid didn’t fit any of the bills. The other boy didn’t look up until Pidge and Shiro dropped into the two empty spots across from him with their trays.

He made eye contact with Pidge first, seemed to find something friendly there, and even nodded to her in way of greeting as he swallowed down a mouthful of French fries. Then his gaze slid over to Shiro, and suddenly Shiro was feeling nervous. Something about the peculiar colour of Keith’s eyes made him feel like he was being carefully scrutinized and dissected. They were sharp, calculating; Shiro watched in real time as he took in Shiro's old sports jacket, the buzz of his undercut, and finally the dark splotches of colour over his eyes and nose. His gaze didn’t linger there, however, and Shiro was grateful for it.

“You’re Keith, right?” Pidge asked. Shiro worried that her directness might not be the best approach, but Keith merely turned a page in his book and nodded again, simple and relaxed.

“Yup,” he said. Plucked another fry from his plate. Shiro idly noticed his nimble fingers, the silver ring curled around his thumb. “We’re in the same math class, right?”

“Yeah. I’m Katie. Or you can call me Pidge.” She held her hand out across the table. Keith took it with a raised eyebrow, but shook it all the same.

“Pidge?” He parroted, a tremble of laughter in his tone.

“Don’t ask,” she muttered. Probably forever pissed at Matt for that childhood slight.

“I’m Takashi,” Shiro finally broke in. He was beginning to feel awkward, not really saying much. Keith’s eyes slid back to him and Shiro had to resist drumming his fingers on the table top – an old nervous habit. He felt like Keith would have zoned in on his nerves, like a hawk with prey.

“I know,” Keith’s gaze crumpled into something soft – almost sad. Not quite pity but a deep pain for Shiro nonetheless. His expression was kind and Shiro’s heart warmed at the sincerity he felt. “I’m sorry about what happened to you and your friend. I hope they find him.”

“About that,” Shiro began, but trailed off, completely baffled on how to broach such a topic. This wasn’t quite in his social-skill-repertoire. 

Keith’s eyebrows flew up almost to his hairline. Whatever he had been expecting when Shiro and Pidge had joined him, it didn’t seem to be that. Shiro feared the worst, and suddenly wanted to back out of Pidge’s plan. But the expression on Keith’s face made it clear that such a thing was no longer an option. Shiro didn’t see anger there, but something expecting. Almost challenging. He wouldn’t have let him retreat even if Shiro had tried. 

Shiro felt a little bowled over in Keith’s presence – not a sensation he was used to.

“We think you can help us,” Pidge finished for him. She leaned forward, speaking low. The usual chatter of the cafeteria, filled with hundreds of teenagers, gave them decent cover. No one seemed to be listening or paying them any mind. The teachers on-duty hovered by the double doors nearby, gossiping over novelty mugs, completely unaware of what transpired under their noses.

Keith’s expression became deadpan. For Shiro it was mildly terrifying. “Help you how.”

Shiro breathed deep enough for his lungs to strain, dug for the courage to lean further into Keith’s space, and took a chance. “We heard you’re into the occult.”

“Ah,” Keith shut his book and shoved it a little more roughly than Shiro personally thought was necessary into his bookbag under the table. “So _that’s_ why you’re here. To mock me.”

“What? No! Not at all!” Shiro held up both hands, surrendering to Keith’s anger and hoping he appeared repentant enough to save face. Pidge looked chagrined but unsurprised. 

“That’s not why we’re here,” she tried, sounding a little irritable and panicked at his reaction. Shiro understood – they had essentially pissed off the only possible lead to Matt that they had at the moment. Without him they were back to grasping at invisible straws rather than just normal ones.

Keith stood, and Shiro allowed himself to study the other teenager a little closer. He wasn’t very tall, and he was rather thin, but there was something in the proud set of his shoulders and the annoyed tilt of his chin that convinced Shiro that they needed this boy on their side. But Keith’s dark blue eyes were narrowed, murderous, and they properly halted Shiro from blathering on anymore.

“Look, I really am sorry about what happened to you and your buddy – but this is a real shitty way of gettin’ a laugh in,” he bit out, a slightly heavier twang in his accent with his anger. Shiro couldn’t deny, it hurt a little. He could imagine some of the things that were said, were done, in a straight-edge Midwest town like this. Keith’s expression alone was making him regret this exchange, noble intentions aside.

As Keith was gathering up his tray Shiro made one last-ditch attempt, “We’re not trying to make fun of you, Keith.” His hand slid forward on the table as if he was going to reach for him, but stopped before he could embarrass himself further. “We really do think you can help us.”

Keith gathered his tray in his hands, bookbag over his shoulders. Turned on the heel of his black sneakers and didn’t look back. “Fuck off.”

-

Shiro avoided the computer lab for afternoon study hall; instead he met Pidge in the library, and the two commandeered a corner table by the non-fiction section. It was quieter on this side of the stacks. Pidge had her math homework out, spread across the table from one end to the other, and Shiro sat across from her with his head in his arms. Pidge said he was moping over Keith. Shiro couldn’t deny it.

“We need him,” he whined.

Pidge looked up from the textbook page she had her nose in. “What makes you so sure? All that occult shit could just be rumors.”

“He never denied it,” Shiro pointed out. Pidge rolled her eyes. Shiro was well aware that it wasn’t exactly proof that Keith _was_ into the occult, but they didn’t have much to go on anyway. They’d pissed him off in record time. There wasn’t exactly time to exchange hobbies. “Besides, we have no other leads to work with. Until we know for sure there’s no way Keith could help us, he’s our best bet.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he was _so_ excited to work with us,” she snorted.

Shiro propped his chin up in one palm, still half leaning over the table like a melodramatic lead. “Is he always like that?”

Pidge simply shrugged. She looked almost sympathetic. “I don’t know. I’ve honestly never talked to him. He’s always been really quiet, doesn’t bother with most people. Minds his own business.”

“He honestly seemed pretty nice until we basically accused him of being in a cult,” Shiro muttered. He genuinely felt bad, but it wasn’t exactly a topic he could just drop. Keith may not believe him, but Keith was his only shot at finding Matt right now.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Pidge snickered a little as Shiro shot up in his seat, tracing her line of sight to where Keith was browsing through a shelf some little ways behind them. After a pause, “Wait, was that joke in bad taste?”

Shiro nodded to her. “Incredibly.” And then he was off, chasing after Keith as he began to wander further into the labyrinth of stacks. The shorter boy didn’t seem to notice him till Shiro was at his side, but he didn’t jump when Shiro forced out a painfully awkward greeting to announce himself. Keith rolled his eyes so hard Shiro was amazed he didn’t detach something in his skull.

“What do you want, Shirogane? Having that hard of a time taking a hint?”

“I wasn’t trying to fuck with you before,” Shiro held his hands out, imploring, and Keith took a step back. His expression was guarded. Shiro couldn’t tell if Keith could read his sincerity or not. Or his desperation. He was sure both were scrawled pathetically across his face. He was considering out-right begging if it would sway the other teen.

“Really? Because I’ve heard that line before,” he snarled, that slight honeyed twang dripping off his vowels. Shiro winced at the unbridled anger. There was a flush high in Keith’s cheeks, eyes bright like he was ready for a fight. Part of Shiro felt terribly pained to imagine what had been done to him to make him so fiercely reject Shiro’s attempts, but mostly he just felt a warm coil of anger. This kid was his only possible lifeline for Matt at the present and he was sizing Shiro up like some cheap playground bully. Wasting time.

“Look, I dunno what’s got you all pissed off – “ Shiro took one poorly calculated step forward. Keith’s thin lips curled back over a snarl. His expression was too venomous for just a teenager. It made Shiro freeze, a little terrified that he pushed a little harder than he should.

“Save it. I’m not playing your fucking games.”

Keith ran out of the library too quickly for Shiro to rebut. Mostly, he was just feeling drained. Keith was flighty and uncooperative at best. This was hopeless.

Shiro rejoined Pidge at their corner table and let his head _thunk_ painfully down onto the wood in lieu of a better way of venting his frustrations. Pidge didn’t even look up from her notebook. 

“Went that well, huh?”

Shiro just groaned, exasperated.

-

“This isn’t going to go well,” Pidge reminded him cheerfully from where she was picking open her bike lock on the school’s front lawn. Shiro leaned one hip against the bike rack and tried to practice some subtle deep breathing to help settle his nerves.

“I wanna try, just one more time. If this doesn’t work we’ll just figure out something else.” Shiro was willing to admit that he sounded far more confident than he felt. He eyed the front of the high school as he spoke, watching for a head of dark hair and a blue plaid shirt to drift out with the crowds. He prayed Keith didn’t slip by him. He had no clue where to even begin looking for him outside of the school.

“Third times the charm,” Pidge shrugged, backing her bike out of it’s small metal prison before straddling it. “Sure you don’t want me to tag along? I can bike your ass home after he decks you,” she snickered.

Shiro did his best to roll his eyes without looking away from the front doors for too long. “I’ll be fine. I think. He’s a little scary,” Shiro admitted, sheepish. Pidge had an eye roll of her own.

“Whatever, suit yourself space cadet. I’m going to the library for a bit. Maybe I can find some Old World mythology shit there. Not much of a selection at the Garrison.” She flipped up the bike kickstand with the heel of her white sneaker and pointed at Shiro. “Call me when you get home.”

Shiro placed both hands over his heart, leaning into her space with a heartfelt gasp. “You _do_ care!”

She pedaled off down the sidewalk with one middle finger in the air before he had a chance to pull her into one of the bear-hugs she hated so much. Shiro quickly missed her company. The crowds were starting to thin as most kids boarded the buses or wandered off to clubs and sports, and the idea of being alone – even just in front of the high school in the middle of a bright afternoon – was making him a bit antsy. He was thankful it didn’t take Keith much longer to emerge from wherever he’d been hiding.

He lightly hopped down the steps, bookbag slung over one shoulder and a book tucked under his arm. He didn’t take any notice of Shiro – simply made a right out of the school gates and followed the sidewalk in the opposite direction Pidge had gone. Taking a few quick, deep breaths, Shiro jogged to catch up to the other boy’s surprisingly quick pace.

“Hey! Keith!”

“No.”

The boy didn’t startle the way Shiro assumed he would. Didn’t even look over his shoulder to address him. Simply told him “no” like a misbehaving puppy and picked up his pace. He crossed the one-way street and began j-walking to the block on their left. Shiro sped up to overtake his stride. He passed in front of him, blocking Keith from running off a third time. Feeling a little out of breath, he held out one hand in a silent plea for Keith to wait for his words to catch up to his aching body. Keith stared at him as if he was a temperamental stray animal. But he didn’t try to bolt.

So that was a plus.

“I need your help,” he huffed out. It ended up sounding a bit more forceful – and desperate—than he’d intended. Keith’s severe expression cracked a little as he shook his head, before unfolding into what Shiro might have considered a smile if it didn’t look like the last thing he might see before he was knocked out cold. Cynical, biting, Keith even managed a small laugh as he side-stepped where Shiro was blocking his path with strange, languid grace.

“I have to give you credit. You’re more persistent than most,” he said. His voice was pleasant, as if they were talking about something simplistic and mundane, but Shiro felt the thorns underneath. He noticed his accent wasn’t very heavy when he wasn’t riled up and chomping at the bit to kick Shiro’s ass. 

Shiro watched Keith’s retreating back for a hurried moment, a pretty slant of plaid and distressed jeans in the afternoon sun, before he made a decision.

“Pale thing, almost humanoid. Thought it was a person at first,” he began, falling into an even-paced step only mere yards behind his companion. Just close enough for Keith to hear the rush of words Shiro divulged, the personal recounting of his nightmare. “But no person has red and yellow eyes like that. Rows of fangs. Its jaw looked fucking unhinged.”

Keith had stopped walking but he didn’t turn around. Regardless, Shiro could see the tense line of his shoulders, a stiff angle in his stance that hadn’t been there before. It was beyond guarded. It was poised for an action – of what nature, Shiro didn’t know. But Keith was listening. He was _finally_ fucking listening.

“I need to know what that thing is. I need to find it, so I can find my friend. Can you help me or not?” He was just behind Keith now with the smallest patch of sidewalk separating them– could smell the spice of his cologne as a breeze tore past and shook the branches overhead. But he didn’t dare reach out to him like his body craved to do. Whatever gears were turning, whatever possibilities Keith might have been considering as Shiro laid his plight bare before him, he didn’t want to interrupt it. So he gave him his time, waited silently, for the strange boy in front of him to find his words.

A long moment followed. The fact that Keith didn’t immediately reject him – tell him that he knew nothing, that he was begging the wrong person, that it was a misunderstanding—told Shiro all he needed to know. Regardless of what Keith said to him now, there was some truth to it all. Something that Keith held close that was linked to this new and terrifying world Shiro had been tossed into.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, finally, soft tone nearly lost to the rustle of the trees and the dancing yellow leaves around their sneakers.

Shiro shook his head before remembering that Keith wasn’t looking at him. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything to find Matt.”

Keith turned just enough to regard him over his shoulder, expression odd. Shiro wasn’t sure what to make of it. He found himself a little bewitched by the strange shift in colour of Keith’s eyes in the afternoon sun. “How are you so sure that you’ll find him alive?”

Shiro’s eyes found the sidewalk, spell broken with the cold dousing of more pressing realities. He would fight and ignore that reality until he simply couldn’t. “I'm not” he admitted. 

Keith turned fully to face him then, his eyes something fierce and lingering. It made Shiro’s nerves flare but something in him reached for Keith anyway. Something told him, _he’s what you need. Where you need to be._ He wanted to trust Keith. Wanted Keith to trust in him enough to take a chance on this.

“You need to understand, Shiro. This isn’t some kid’s book with a happy ending or a shitty late-night sitcom. This is real, and your friend is in a lot of danger if he’s not already dead. _You’ll_ be in danger if you start poking around. It might get you killed.”

Shiro couldn’t settle on why, but Keith’s words didn’t jar him as they might have before. He realized he knew this already – the imminent danger he was hurtling himself into. Hearing the warning come from someone else just drove the point home that Shiro didn’t care what happened to him. It didn’t matter to him now. If he could help Matt by any means necessary – well then, that was enough. Shiro would gladly pay whatever price was demanded of him.

“I told you, I’ll do anything to find my friend. I don’t care what happens to me,” he said. Keith’s eyes strayed across his face, lighting off the cuts and bruising in contemplation, searching for something that Shiro didn’t understand. He seemed to find satisfaction in what he saw, huffing to himself a little. When he took off again Shiro simply followed, confused. Keith didn’t give him an outright answer – no affirmation that he’d assist Shiro, no command for him to fuck off.

“Where are you going?” Shiro called to his back as he slipped further and further away.

“C’mon,” Keith waved over his shoulder, gesturing for Shiro to follow as Keith wound them through a few more streets to an unknown destination. The sidewalk in this section of town crumbled under their shoes, most of the houses with dark windows and unkempt lawns. It all felt a little eerie but Keith moved with confidence. He waved kindly at a few neighbors as they passed. 

Keith stopped them in front of a neat little house at the end of the street. Small, square, and wooden, with warm light spilling past layers of newspaper taped to the front facing windows. There was a rocking chair tucked into one corner of the porch that gave Shiro a light case of the heebies, but they were moderately squashed by the adorable miniature potted cacti lining the porch railing – each one with a name scrawled across its terracotta bowl in black marker.

Keith jiggled a small silver key into the front lock and shouldered the door open with only minor difficulties. He gestured Shiro to follow him inside. Only part of him idly wondered if this was part of Keith’s plan to murder him. The rest of him, unbothered by the heavy burden of his mortality, was quick at the other teen’s heels for answers.

If the outside of the little two-story was enough to give Shiro the heebies, the inside was a collection of jeebies and subsequently a nightmare. The walls were covered from ceiling to floor in occupied gun racks and glass casings filled with carefully arraigned knives and large boards of newspaper clippings – missing persons, murder cases, cold cases from years long passed. Shiro thought he spotted a bigfoot sighting or two in the chaos. There were a few bookshelves tucked into the far corners of what Shiro supposed was a living room, overflowing with titles that Shiro didn't try to read.

“Dad? I’m home,” Keith called back into the house after toeing off his shoes. He looked back at Shiro with what might have been trepidation. “And, uh – we might have a problem,” he finished. When there was no immediate answer he wandered back to an open doorway on the left and disappeared. 

Completely at a loss of what to do – and still unsure if this was going to be how he died—Shiro followed suit and left his sneakers to the left of the door next to Keith’s and a pair of dirty brown work boots. Before he could decide whether to follow Keith further into the house or run for his life, the teenager returned with a man following close behind, looking a little grim. He had the same dark mop of hair that Keith had, but this man was broad where Keith was slight, with a short scruff of beard and soft, dark eyes.

He took one look at Shiro and grunted. “This him?”

Keith nodded, not quite looking in Shiro’s direction. Shiro was torn between confusion and accepting his inevitable murder. He supposed there was still time to run. But then the man plopped onto the couch with a hearty sigh and gestured for Shiro to take the blue patterned recliner cattycorner to him.

“Can you tell me what you saw, son?” The man’s voice was thick, syrupy, and a little more southern than most in their town. A warm drawl much heavier than Keith's. It did nothing to quell the tremor of panic Shiro was fighting to hide.

Shiro’s eyes found Keith, fiddling with something on the table across the room with his back to them. The man traced where he was staring, silently begging for Keith’s help, and smiled slow and kind. “I know what you told my son, but I’d like to hear it from you, if that’s okay.”

Cotton-mouthed and shaking, Shiro ran through the more terrifying details of that night. It felt as if it had been longer than five days since that horror unfolded – it felt like an eternity had passed since then. He supposed any length of time felt like it’s own long-suffering nightmare when sleep evaded you and you saw faces in every shadow you passed. Keith’s father listened quietly, nodding along as Shiro prattled on and on. 

When he was finished, Keith’s dad turned to look at his son from over his shoulder, shouting, “I _told_ your uncle! I told him they’d start moving out this way this time of the year! And you remember what he said?”

“They’re not birds,” Keith parroted flatly with all the disdain of a child who’d sat through this argument too many times. It nearly made Shiro smile.

Shiro raised his hand, hesitant to speak out of line and still mildly surprised that he hadn’t been gutted and stuffed in the freezer yet. That fact alone kept his hope alive. He cast his overwhelmed gaze around the stockpile of weaponry that dominated the cozy front room. “So can you help me find my friend?”

Keith’s dad turned back to him, eyebrows raised. Shiro didn’t think it was that surprising of a question. Keith rejoined them, carrying a heavy tome that he handed off to his father. He looked a little more solemn than he had earlier in the day with his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed, looking between his father and Shiro. 

“Well of course,” Keith’s dad drawled. A slightly heavier twang in his excitement. “It’s what we do for a living.”

“What exactly is it you do for a living, sir?” Shiro hazarded to ask. Keith’s father stood, clapping him on the shoulder like an old friend.

“We’re hunters, son,” he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am always 100% here for my texan kogane boys.


	3. love bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monster hunting dream team slowly coming together. Shiro's strapped for time, Keith's got a complex, and Hunk needs a reference for faeries tbh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, half-edited? I'm sorry, I haven't slept in days. Cue the Queen playlist.

“How did you manage it,” Pidge asked in complete disbelief. Again. It was only a six-minute walk from the school gates to the Kogane house on Stately Ave. but within those six minutes Pidge had accused Shiro of witchcraft, flat-out lying, and seducing Keith Kogane with his bumbling charm. The last one made him flush so badly he shucked off his jacket and carried it over his arm, relishing in the early fall breeze. He refused to dignify that accusation with a response.

“I told him about the thing that took Matt and he finally took me seriously. No one would go this far for a prank,” he reasoned. Pidge seemed content to follow him, though she kept side-eyeing Shiro.

They approached the Kogane household and Pidge paused out front to leave her little green bike laying in the yard, back wheel still spinning. She herself looked a little green as they made their way up the creaky front steps.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted, hiding her hands in the front pocket of her dark blue hoodie. A shaky half-step behind her friend as she, with wide eyes and hunched shoulders, took in the taped newspapers the Kogane’s used to block out their windows. It didn’t seem to quell her unease.

Shiro raised his hand and knocked three times against the unvarnished wood of the front door. “You probably should be,” he grinned. She punched him in the arm with a sour look and a halfhearted “ _don’t get me murdered!_ ”

Keith’s father answered the door – Tex, Shiro vaguely remembered-- looking a little rough. Lines of exhaustion firmly embedded in his handsome face, but he smiled when he saw Shiro and ushered the two inside.

Keith was leaning against the kitchen entryway just in view, tan phone cradled to one ear as he twisted the cord around his fingers, humming affirmation at whatever his companion was saying on the other end. When he finally lifted his eyes to Shiro’s, he smiled – tight-lipped, a little anxious, but it was there. Progress.

“Yeah, I’m sorry uncle Kolivan. I’ve gotta go,” Keith said, shuffling his socked feet. Some irritated grumbling from the other end of the line. Keith pulled away from the receiver to tell his father, “Uncle Kolivan says you owe him twenty bucks,” as Tex passed on his way to the kitchen.

“I ain’t owe him shit. I was right ‘bout this coven and he was right ‘bout that crossroads demon he was chasin’ up north,” he complained with more exasperation than bite. Keith shrugged and his father took the phone from his son’s outstretched hand. “We’re even!” He barked into the receiver.

Louder, more agitated grumbling through the phone line. Just as Keith’s father began to retort with something about “ _the summer of ’72, when you almost got my ass killed!_ ” he trailed into the kitchen with the cord firmly in one hand where Shiro assumed the phone mount was and disappeared.

Keith rolled his eyes and threw himself across the couch in one swift move that Shiro couldn’t help but study. Taking that as a cue, Shiro settled in the seat he’d used the night before while basically begging Keith’s father to take pity on him. Pidge plopped down on the floor to lean against the coffee table littered with mugs, dusty old books, and yellowed files. She shamelessly began to pick through one of the piles. Keith didn’t seem to mind.

“My uncle’ll keep him busy for a few hours,” Keith snorted. Then crossed his arms, expression tensing into something serious. “You’re sure you want in on this?” He asked Shiro. He sounded unsure at Shiro’s own bravado, like watching the town idiot skip to the guillotine. “My dad and I can take care of it. We have before.”

Shiro shook his head, elbows resting on his knees to lean forward. “No way. I want to help.”

Keith turned to look at Pidge again, half draped over the small table and carefully reading one of the cork boards littered with old police reports. “And you?”

“Matt’s my brother,” was all she said. Tone and expression flat, no room for argument. Daring Keith to try to change her mind.

Keith held up his hands. He apparently knew a lost battle when he saw one. “Fair enough.” He shifted forward, took a deep breath. “Dad and I think maybe a coven of vampires are in the area. The thing you described sounded like a drudge – a freshly turned one.”

“Drudge?” Pidge asked. Whatever nerves she had felt before seemed to have disappeared as she sat up straight and fixed her bright brown eyes on Keith for explanation. Keith himself seemed a little anxious to be playing teacher, and Shiro smiled at him encouragingly when he caught his dark blue eyes sliding to him as if unsure how to proceed.

“Uh, kinda like a servant, I guess,” Keith scratched the back of his neck. Shiro idly wondered how often he had to explain this bizarre world to outsiders like them. “Vampires don’t like to be alone – power in numbers and all that. And they’re social creatures anyway. Usually live in families. Turn others like them so they’re not alone. But, there’s always a hierarchy,” Keith paused, reaching past Pidge to grab a book from the coffee table. Shiro recognized it as the one Keith’s father had been thumbing through the night before.  
Keith found the page he wanted and laid the book out for Shiro and Pidge to look at it. The illustrations were old, seemingly sketched in ink centuries before, of awkwardly bent lumbering creatures with deep sunken eyes and a long jaw with protruding fangs.

“That’s it!” Shiro shouted, unable to contain his volume. He reached out for the book before Keith could even think to offer it. The adrenaline rush at finally identifying the monster that had been plaguing his dreams was dizzying. For a brief moment he felt the mist of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes before he wiped them away, chest heaving. He _wasn’t_ fucking crazy.

“You okay?” Pidge nudged him. When Shiro looked up his eyes fell on Keith first simply by their arrangement around the low table. The dark-haired boy looked sympathetic. Understanding.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice softer than Shiro was used to.

“Yes,” he muttered, pulling the book closer to himself to study the image, heart pounding. “Yes, I do.”

Pidge, quick to change the subject from Shiro’s stubborn nature, “Any idea how many there are?”

Keith leaned back into the soft give of the couch with a sigh so heavy Shiro thought he could feel it rush through his own chest. “No sure guesses. There’s a least two of them – the drudge that attacked you and the sire. They’ll be the real bastard to catch – if they’re old enough, they can control their appearance. Blend in with humans more easily than this beauty contestant,” he tapped the book Shiro was still holding for emphasis. He looked a little hesitant to continue. “Usually there’s more than just two, though.”

Shiro glanced up at Keith from under his lashes, feeling weary. Pidge’s expression showed her own unease at Keith’s information. “How many are there usually?”

Keith held his hands out, palm-up. Imploring and sheepish as Shiro felt the dread resettle in his chest. He supposed it never really left. “Roughly? About five-to-ten on average.”

-

It was nearing six-thirty, the usual shine of sun behind the newspaper-ed windows dulled into the darkening purples of the early fall sunset, when there was a frantic knocking at the door. Keith had been hunched over a book about vampire nesting habits as Shiro and Pidge compiled a list of any abandoned building within a 50ft radius that the monsters could have unhindered access to. Turns out, there were a lot of building developments – complexes and housing from the 70’s – that were left untouched. Shiro felt exhausted just looking at the map of places they were going to have comb through to find a trail.

All three jumped at the knocking – five quick raps. Panicked.

“Dad?” Keith called back into the kitchen, brow furrowed. “Were you expecting someone?” When there was no answer, Keith shuffled onto sleep-deadened feet from where he had tucked himself half under the coffee table, muttering something about his old man’s shitty hearing as he disappeared through the kitchen and into the back hall.

Pidge and Shiro exchanged nervous glances. Nearly four hours taking a crash course on vampire feeding habits and hunting practices had made them just on the wrong side of weary at every bump and whistle of wind. Shiro wasn’t sure how Keith and Tex lived such a life – knowing how much was out there, hiding. Hunting. Wanting to kill them.

Another series of knocking, and this time, “ _Shiro? Pidge? Are you guys there? C’mon!_ ”

“Who—“ Shiro startled. 

Pidge cut him off, stumbling to her feet, nearly tripping over the city map they’d been marking up with old highlighters. “That sounded like Hunk?”

Before Shiro could even let his paranoia chide her for her brashness, she threw the Kogane front door open to find Hunk Garrett shuffling nervously on the front porch, hands twisting together and eyes wide. Shiro had spoken to his friend just today during third period – they’d talked about an old television show rerun they’d both been interested in. Everything had seemed normal. But the fear in Hunk’s eyes told him that not everything was normal, not now. Shiro feared the worst.

“Hunk? What happened? Are you okay?” Shiro stood to meet him at the door. Sliding in socked feet as he and Pidge crowded Hunk at the threshold.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Pidge muttered. She stepped aside to let Hunk in but he frantically shook his head.

“You are in so much trouble, man,” Hunk told him, wide brown eyes focused on Shiro. Keith reemerged from the back then, his father trailing behind – both looking as lost as Shiro was feeling.

“What’s happening?” Keith demanded. Then, almost timidly, “Hunk?”

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk gave the young hunter a hesitant wave before snapping his attention back to Shiro. “Your mom’s freaking the fuck out, dude. Called my mom, said she couldn’t find you anywhere so they sent me out in the hatchback to look for you. Do you know how many times I’ve circled the school? Do you even realize how creepy the school _is_ after dark? What are you even doing here?” 

Hunk couldn’t seem to stop the word-vomit as it left him in a breathless rush. Voice strained as he took in all the hunting gear lining the walls and the wide splay of maps across the living room floor. He looked a little petrified. Shiro was suddenly filled with his own sense of terror and dread, but probably for completely different reasons.

“Shit,” he muttered. Brought his wrist up to see his watch display 6:39 on it’s plain face. “ _Shit_!” He began frantically searching through the mess they’d made of Keith’s living room for his school bag and sneakers. Pidge crossed her arms and shook her head.

“You’re supposed to be home, aren’t you,” she accused.

“Can someone please explain all the knives?” Hunk squeaked, pointing at the glass casing nestled in the corner of the room. 

“Yeah, and why isn’t your family starting a nation-wide man-hunt for _you_?” Shiro asked, eyeing Pidge. She glared at him, huffing.

“Because _I_ said I was studying with a friend after school. You have to at least _try_ to cover your tracks, loser.” The “duh” was unspoken but warranted. It hadn’t crossed Shiro’s mind to account for the time he was spending after school at Keith’s to his mom. He’d had the gracious luck to beat her home the day before after striking a deal with the Koganes. Her office job gave him about two and a half unaccounted hours between school letting out and her leaving the office. But time had gotten away from him today, knee-deep in Keith’s library.

“Son,” Tex began, gentle, as Shiro slipped on his shoes in a panic. “Does your family not know where you are?”

“It’s just my mom,” Shiro ground out, bitter. “And she, she doesn’t understand.” He scrubbed his hands over his face as he leaned back against the wall. He needed everything to stop for a moment, needed everyone to stop talking at him. He couldn’t think. Could only feel the rush of adrenaline as he struggled to make sense of the chaos that had fallen into his lap all at once. 

Before he could gather his thoughts, he felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder. Tex began leading him to the door, touch gentle but firm as he guided him over the mess of hunting plans. “Head on home. Your mother’s probably worried, what with everything goin’ on.”

Shiro bit his lip – but what about all the planning and work they’d been slaving over, they hadn’t decided on anything yet! Who knew how much time Matt could have -- if he was even still alive. Shiro wanted to argue, to beg for more time – but he caught Keith’s eye from behind his father’s broad frame. Keith smiled – that strange, undecipherable tight-lipped smile – and nodded to him. With a reluctant sigh, he nodded back. Understanding. He’d see Keith tomorrow.

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Kogane.” He noticed Pidge gathering her own belongings, occasionally smacking Hunk’s hands away from an old shotgun mounted on the wall.

Tex ruffled Shiro’s hair, affectionate, and Shiro was a little stunned. “You’re welcome here any time, Shiro. Be safe gettin’ home – all three of you.”

“I drove here,” Hunk offered, still a little panicked, and hooking a nervous thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the street. 

“Let’s go,” Pidge tugged him towards the door, Shiro falling a little behind to bid the Kogane’s goodnight and shut the door behind him. In the chill of the dim porch, the trio paused.

“You’re so fucked,” Hunk reminded him.

“I forgot mom left the office at five – I just lost track of time. God, she’s gonna murder me herself,” Shiro huffed, head dropping in defeat.

“How’d you find us?” Pidge asked, leading the way down the creaking steps. She walked ahead to retrieve her bike from where it was still pressed on its side into the grass of the front lawn.

“Saw your bike while I was driving around – which, by the way, not sure that’s gonna fit in the hatchback.”

“I’ll make it fit,” Pidge told him, a little threatening. Hunk fought down the backseats so Pidge could try to shove the Mongoose into the vacancy.

“By the way, _why_ are you at Keith Kogane’s house? Of all places.”

“You know him?” Shiro was surprised. In all the years he’d known Hunk – a weird, winding road from pre-pubescent middle school – he’d never mentioned the eccentric younger boy.

“Yeah, we had a shop class together last year and did a project together – little weird, nice guy. Had the _best_ snacks during midterms,” Hunk reminisced, nearly taking a tire to the face as Pidge resorted to kicking the bike into place.

“Look, you _can’t_ tell my mom I was here,” Shiro pleaded.

“Why not?” Hunk brought his hands together, fingers twining, to rest his cheek against them lovingly. “Don’t wanna tell her about your secret boyfriend?”

Shiro heard Pidge snark out a loud “ _HA_ ” from where she was half in Hunk’s car rearranging the handlebars. His face felt so warm he was sure he was glowing, even in the dark twilight hues.

“He’s helping me find the thing that took Matt,” Shiro said, quiet and heavy with his guilt. But he felt something new, now, too. A determination, a hopefulness that Keith and his father had given back to him.

“Oh, no. No no no,” Hunk chanted, hands up as if to protect himself.

“It’s too late, Hunk,” Shiro intoned. Deadly serious. Mostly. “You’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Oh c’mon, man! You know I can’t do secrets! They just – spill out, like gross pudding,” he cried. Shiro simply stared, unmoving, with his eyebrows raised. Hunk tried to wait him out for a total of four seconds before he cracked, burying his hands into his palms with a groan and half muffled “fuck!”. 

-

Shiro found Keith in the cafeteria before Pidge – she’d holed up in the computer lab to continue digging through deeds and city planning to find any possible trace of where the vampires could be hiding during the daylight hours – or, more importantly, where they could be hiding Matt with no one noticing.

Shiro’s stomach had growled so loudly that the teacher on duty shot them a dirty look. Pidge had shooed him away and promised to catch up before the end of the period. Told him to go enjoy a lunch date with his secret boyfriend. Shiro flicked her in the ear and ran away before she could grab him.

Keith looked up as Shiro threw himself into the spot on the bench across from him, a little overdramatic. “So,” Keith began slowly. Prompting. “How’d it go?”

“I’m technically grounded for the next month, which just means I need to be home roughly by five every night,” Shiro explained, grinning conspiratorially.

“Or softly by five, if it’s a slow night,” Keith mused. It punched a small amused huff out of Shiro, and Keith looked a little stunned that Shiro had almost laughed at his bad attempt at a joke.

“Uh, anyway,” Keith shook his head as if to rid himself of some clinging thought, “Dad and I finished listing up some of the most likely places a coven would make a nest around here. Mostly just based on past experiences.”

“Exactly how many times have you fought vampires?”

“I had a weird childhood. There’s a little abandoned chapel not too far from here, next to the Old Pass Graveyard?”

“I know it,” Shiro nodded along.

“That thing’s been empty for almost thirty years according to the charters Dad found. Meaning,” Keith paused, dangerous grin flashing. It made Shiro’s heart race a little.

“No need for invitation,” Shiro finished for him. Returned that predatory smile and felt a warm comradery with the boy across from him. Keith seemed pleased that Shiro had maintained the lore he’d spent hours teaching Shiro the night before.

“Got time after school?” Keith asked, a little awkward with his stern expression. Shiro found it endearing.

Shiro nodded again, laughed around a quick mouthful of burger. “Till five,” he said.

-

“Where – where the hell are you going?” Hunk seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking a little more than put-out at finding Keith and Shiro at the school gates lugging an oversized duffle bag. He held out both hands as if trying to gesture how ridiculous the two of them were. “Kids are _missing_ , guys. Gone! And you’re just gonna wander around town? Does that not seem stupid to you? It’s, like, the perfect set up for a bad slasher film.”

“One of those kids is our _friend_ ,” Shiro reminded him, nearly pleading. He couldn’t abandon Matt. The fact that he was gone tore at him every moment. He had no idea how much time his best friend could have left.

“We’re not wandering around, we’re heading over to Old Pass Graveyard,” Keith said.

“That doesn’t make it better!” Hunk rebutted, sounding a little disbelieving at Keith’s nonchalance. 

“Having a ride could,” Shiro tried. He and Keith exchanged glances as Hunk spluttered, and Keith caught on quick.

“Would make this go a lot quicker, and, y’know, potentially save us from being murdered, or whatever,” Keith tried, raising his eyebrows. The image nearly made Shiro laugh.

“Don’t encourage him,” Hunk snapped.

“Little late for that,” Keith grimaced, looking unrepentant. Shiro found himself smiling at that. He felt a little fondly for the awkward boy at his elbow. 

“I mean, we’re going whether you drive us or not,” Shiro shrugged. Hunk looked torn.

Pidge appeared from the front entrance then, making a beeline straight for them. “Hey, sorry – Mr. Wimbeldon caught me and was chatting about earworms, or something,” She muttered as she approached, picking self-consciously at the pink shell of her ear. Without stopping, she glanced at Hunk, then sighed in relief as she began to lead the way out the front gates. “Hunk’s driving us? Thank _God_ , I haven’t slept in, like, two days.”

Shiro and Keith turned to give Hunk matching victorious grins before running after her. Hunk seemed frozen for a long second before Shiro heard a loud, exasperated “ _Seriously?_ ” from behind them.

Pidge glanced over her shoulder. “ _C’mon_ , Hunk!”

-

“What street is it again,” Hunk grumbled from behind the steering wheel.

“Old Hollow,” Shiro crinkled the map in his hands as he pointed out the windshield. “Make a left at this stop sign.”

“This is insane,” Hunk bit out for the eighth time.

“We know,” Shiro, Keith, and Pidge all managed to reply together. Pidge and Keith were in the backseat pouring over the finely sharpened hunting knives Keith had slipped in his bag before school. Keith slid a black and silver Humvee between the two front seats, tapping Shiro’s shoulder.

“Here. It’s not much but it’s more of a precaution than anything. Even if we lucked out and found them on the first shot, they won’t be active till the sun goes down.”

Shiro took the knife into his hands cautiously. He’d never held a hunting knife before. It was heavier than he expected. He gently fit his thumb to the metal nub on the side, flipping it open to reveal the intimidatingly wide curve of the blade. The lower half was serrated, the rest curving up into a perfect point. Shiro could imagine Keith and his father sharpening the blades over dinner and the news.

“You guys know vampires aren’t real, right?” Hunk tried. He sounded a little scared but also sympathetic.

“Something fucked up took Matt, and that something was real,” Shiro argued. “Call it a vampire, call it a wookie, or an alien – I don’t care. All I care about is finding Matt.”

“Are aliens real?” Pidge asked, turning her eyes to Keith.

“Totally,” Keith said flatly, hiking up the sleeve of his shirt to show her the tiny black alien head tattoo on the point of his shoulder.

Hunk slowed to a stop just inside the graveyard gates and threw his hands up. “I suppose next you’re gonna tell me that _faeries_ are real, too?”

“They are. They’re assholes, though.” Keith said, plain and matter-of-fact. He was silent for a weirdly long moment where no one knew how to respond. Then, quietly and almost a little horrified, “Dad said he accidentally blew one up in microwave once.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Pidge said, hopping out of the back seat before anyone else could comment.

Shiro twisted in his seat to look at Keith, disbelieving and yet disgustedly curious. “A microwave?”

“I honestly try not to ask too many questions anymore, especially not since he told me about the time he almost hooked up with a demon. I like to sleep,” Keith said, throwing his own door open. Shiro was quick to follow, the three gathering at the first row of headstones.

“Not coming?” Shiro yelled back at Hunk, who was still seated in the hatchback with his arms determinedly crossed. Hunk shook his head, shaggy dark hair flying in all directions.

“Uh-uh. Hell no. I’ve seen enough scary movies. Funny guy goes first.”

“Or the person who stays behind by themselves,” Pidge snickered.

“We’ll try to make it quick,” Keith said, hand hovering over the knife clipped to his jean pocket. “If we’re not back in twenty, call the cops.”

The graveyard was quiet. There was what appeared to be one family in the distance, huddled around one of the more intricate gravestones, but otherwise, not a soul was to be found. It had an almost calming feeling about it. Welcoming, even. Neatly cut grass not yet withering with the fall chill. The varying headstones cropping up in even lines across the flat of the property and up into the hills that the dirt road split in half. There was something beautiful about the well-worn paths, the flowers strewn across the feet of stones with vines and moss creeping up their sides.

Beautiful, but sad, Shiro thought.

The chapel was tucked away far enough that the trio couldn’t see the truck from over the curve of the land. It was a small thing, a single story with an attic tucked in its steepled roof, three ominously creaky front steps, and windows clouded with mold and dirt. Shiro was sure it had once been white, but the paint had faded under the sunlight with no upkeep. The skeleton of a building was now dull and dingey.

“Ugh, I’ve already got the creeps,” Pidge muttered. She dropped the duffle bag Keith had handed off to pull out a heavy black flashlight, clicking the power button a few times to test it. It was almost too loud in the quiet of the graveyard.

“Remember,” Keith began as they approached the single door, “Keep your knife in hand, back to the wall. Keep the exit within sight and stay together.”

The three flattened themselves to either side of the door, Pidge nestled against Shiro’s side as she readied her flashlight. Keith’s reached for the door from the opposite side, giving the rotting wood one solid shove. It creaked backwards into the chapel with the momentum. A dark, gaping maw drawing them inside.

They kept to the walls, moving methodically as Pidge swept the beam of her flashlight across ruined floorboards and molding walls and busted old pews. Cracks and holes and splatters of discoloration obscured whatever holy grace the modest building had once held in its prime. They found nothing on the first floor but enough dust to catch in the dim light of the windows and make the teenagers hack into their sleeves.

At the back wall there was a wooden ladder, hidden away in the corner behind what had once probably been a podium for sermons. Rungs missing with disuse and the wood heavily faded. Pidge steadied her light on it as Keith tested its strength with one foot, then two. It groaned under his weight but held, and Shiro kept close to the young hunter’s back to spot him if he fell, one hand already outstretched towards Keith’s slight shoulders. 

Keith ascended, slowly, the ladder protesting all the while. Shiro quietly prayed that nothing was here, with all the noise they were making. Once at the top Keith gestured for Pidge’s light. She tossed it up, underhand, and he caught it in one smooth movement. 

Shiro seemed to often find himself impressed with how fluid the other boy moved. Well trained. Lethal. It always made Shiro pause to appreciate the unearthly way Keith seemed to navigate everything.

There was a quiet, “fuck” from above.

“What is it?” Shiro whispered, hands gripping the ladder siding. 

Keith craned his neck to look down at them. “I don’t think anything’s here now, but something sure as fuck _was_ ,” he said, before clamoring over the lip of the loft and disappearing.

The other two scrambled to follow him, Shiro spotting Pidge before taking two rungs at a time and hauling himself up after her.

There was a smell, Shiro noticed first. Pungent but well hidden under the dirt and must of the dilapidated old building. It was something raw, a sharp stench of decay. Rot.

“Animals,” Keith said, cutting into Shiro’s thoughts. He still held Pidge’s light, the beam of it cutting across carcasses of rodents left in bloody piles. Squirrels, mice. A raccoon. “Looks like they were weaning on animals for a while.”

“A safer option than hunting humans so often,” Pidge agreed. Her brows screwed up in disgust as she stepped over the mutilation and the rust-colored trails along the boards.  
Shiro followed Keith to the corner where the east and south wall met to form an angle. Keith flipped open his blade and crouched down, shining the light into a hole that had been dug into that corner – no bigger than an elementary school cubie.

Keith leaned closer, head nearly inside, and Shiro grabbed his shoulder on instinct. “Careful!”

Keith pulled back, eyeing Shiro’s hand with a strange expression before the older teenager pulled away. He was heavily embarrassed, face so warm he felt sick, but Keith just gave him a reassuring smile – so soft it was barely even there. 

“There’s nothing here – they wouldn’t have left all _that_ behind if they were,” he gestured to the animals strewn to the side. “They don’t nest where they feed.”

“Cleanly,” Pidge quipped, joining them. 

Shiro rubbed at his right arm, his face still warm at his outburst. Of course Keith knew what he was doing. He had been raised as a hunter, he had done all this before. But all Shiro could see was that yellow-eyed creature sinking it’s claws into Matt’s arm and dragging him away into the dark. Disappearing. Shiro didn’t want Keith to disappear too. And all because he had dragged him into this. Shiro’s heart pounded.

Keith kept giving him that soft, reassuring smile. As if he knew the panic that had made its home beneath Shiro’s ribcage. “It’s okay,” he told him gently.

A few deep breaths helped Shiro steady. Hand on his knife, he crouched down with Keith, the two boys pressed into one another’s side as Keith turned the light back into the little cove. The warmth of Keith’s body against him was calming and Shiro’s right hand found its way to Keith’s back, firm where it lay. Keith didn’t comment on it. Shiro was deeply grateful. A small weight landed on top of them as Pidge threw herself into the pile, resting on their backs to see into the interior.

It was just a hollowed section of the framework; some beams and wooden girders crossing in the small dark space between where the walls were constructed. It was cramped, almost claustrophobic, and seemed incapable of fitting a creature the size Shiro had seen, let alone multiple. He voiced as much out loud.

Keith shook his head, looking a bit disgusted. “They’re like cats, I swear. You’d be amazed the places these bastards can fit,” he said.

“More like cockroaches,” Pidge offered with a weary sigh, still leaned against the two boys. Keith swept the light over the deep gouging in the walls and beams. Long, thin lines like nails tearing into the wood for purchase. Like claws.

“Eerie,” Shiro whispered. He looked away. The clawed walls and deep, pin-drop silence made something settle in Shiro’s gut. An anxiety he couldn’t shake with counted breaths. He wanted to leave. Keith seemed to understand, pulling back enough for Pidge to roll off his back and Shiro to move his hand away.

“They’re long gone,” Keith muttered, sighing heavy.

“Why’d they leave?” Shiro wondered aloud. “They’re near a good food source, they’re well hidden. It seems like it’d be perfect.”

“Unless maybe they outgrew it,” Pidge offered. Her bright brown eyes caught in the afternoon light, sharp and calculating, and Shiro sought out Keith’s gaze in a sort of panic at the idea.

Keith’s somber expression said it all.

-

“Stealing from the church?” Shiro raised an eyebrow. He noticed that Keith had fallen a few paces behind himself and Pidge, and turned to find Keith trying to pry the cross on the front door off with his knife.

“Oh, like anyone uses this place,” Keith huffed, shifting the blade for more leverage. “Besides, this could be useful.”

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Both boys screamed as a newcomer seemed to appear from nowhere, and the little wooden crucifix fell to the front steps with a clatter. Pidge, who had settled among the grass below the steps to wait for Keith to finish vandalizing the chapel, simply raised a hand at the girl.

“Hey, Allura,” she waggled her fingers. Allura returned the gesture, a little hesitant. He bright, white eyebrows pinched together. She looked concerned.

“Hey, Katie. It’s good to see you,” she told her earnestly in her lilting accent, before turning back to the two boys. Keith had picked up the little cross and was holding onto it shamelessly, and Shiro was attempting to look more guilty than he actually felt for being caught trespassing _and_ stealing from holy ground.

Shiro had always felt a lot of admiration for Allura – found her beautiful for all the things that made her stand out a little awkwardly in their small-town crowd. Harbored a hell of a crush, the embarrassing kind that he’d deny if anyone called him out on it in front of an audience. Looking at her now, standing in the graveyard in her cheerleader’s garb and clutching a handful of carefully arranged pink flowers, all Shiro could remember was that part of his last conversation with Matt was joking that one day he’d pluck up the courage to ask Allura – the coveted head cheerleader of his dreams – to Homecoming. 

All of it seemed so damn ridiculous now. So trivial.

“Are you stealing that?” She asked, hand on hip as her crystalline eyes fell on the cross in Keith’s hands. Keith almost seemed petulant, as if he’d been chided.

“No one’s going to miss it,” he argued.

“What do you need it for?” She continued, and Shiro panicked a little. What did they say? Surely if they told her the truth she’d think they were insane – but what lie would even sound good enough to explain where she’d caught them? Or the weapons they were carrying?

Keith’s voice cut across Shiro’s internal babble, “Vampires. Dad broke our last crucifix when he went up north.” He plopped down on the front step, as casual as can be. Shiro watched Allura roll her eyes and sigh fondly.

“How’d he break it?”

“Sat on it.”

Allura snorted, and the sound jarred Shiro a little. He felt like one of the shitty slow modems in the library that needed a reboot. He was obviously missing something. A lot of somethings, maybe. Pidge’s expression told him that she was feeling much the same.

“So,” Pidge drawled, leaning back to take in both Keith and Allura, “You two know each other, huh?”

“Of course!” Allura brightened up, reaching out a hand to ruffle Keith’s dark hair. He tolerated it for a long moment, expression sour, before batting her away – much to her delight. “Practically grew up together,” she murmured, sounding rather fond.

But then her eyes caught the watch on her wrist, expression falling a little. “It’s getting late, I need to get going,” she told Keith. His dark eyes fell to the flowers in her hand.

“What are you doing out here, anyway,” he asked.

She lifted the flowers in her hands, looking a little far away. “Visiting dad,” she told him simply. He nodded as if it all made since. Shiro had resolved to keep his mouth shut, figuring it was for the best.

Allura turned to Pidge again. “Nice seeing you,” she told her. Then turned to Shiro. He felt himself freeze up a little. He had managed to keep to the walls of the conversation, an observer in the moment, but suddenly all her attention was on him and he couldn’t just hide behind Keith. It was strange though. For years he’d wanted nothing but the attention of the beautiful white-haired cheerleader, but now that he finally had it, he felt nothing but a slight case of social awkwardness and the bone-weary exhaustion that apparently came with hunting vampires.

“And you too, Shiro. I’m glad you’re okay.” She sounded so genuine, her eyes so bright in the warm afternoon light. But he felt no butterflies, his heart didn’t pound, his face didn’t flush. The gap between his expectations of infatuation and the reality was wide and almost unnerving.

“You know my name?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, laughing a little good-naturedly. He’d always assumed someone like Allura had never looked at him twice. She grinned a bit at that.

“I pay attention,” she told him sagely, eyes falling to Keith again. She reached for his face but he dodged, and the two batted at one another like annoyed siblings for a long moment.

“If you find anything, call me,” she told him. Firm. More of a command, really. Shiro was a bit impressed. Pidge snickered as Allura man-handled Keith into a sort of headlock. When she let go Keith sighed a bit heavier than Shiro felt was necessary.

“Your dad,” Keith began, arguing, then stopped short. Shiro met Pidge’s eyes. They were perceptive enough to gather that this was not a light-hearted conversation. Shiro felt awkward being there, like he was prying.

“I know what dad wanted,” she said, shoulders squaring. She looked like she was ready for a fight but her eyes were fond, concerned. “ _Call me_ , alright?”

Keith could only nod. “Be careful,” he told her. His voice was soft, a little husky in it’s natural pitch. 

Shiro’s chest chose that moment to flutter, much akin to a lost bird, and it took a few moments for him to shake it off before he could properly suggest that they make their way home before Shiro get his ass handed to him a second time.

-

Hunk dropped off Keith first, since he was closest on the route. He thanked Hunk, earning a half-hearted “yeah, yeah” because Hunk was too kind to actually be mad about helping them out, and then slid from the back of the car with his bag over one shoulder. Before Hunk could throw the car in gear Shiro remembered the knife tucked away in his pocket and hastily begged Hunk to wait.

“It’s already 4:45pm, dude,” Hunk told him, eyebrows raised.

“I know, just give me a sec,” was all Shiro offered before darting out of the car and ignoring the overly interested “ _ooooh_ ” from Pidge that followed him. He caught Keith as he reached his front door, silver key in hand. Both dark brows went up as Shiro jogged up behind him.

He pulled the folded blade from his pocket, holding it out for Keith to take. “Here, almost forgot about this.”

Keith just stared at it. One second, then two. Shiro’s confusion was building. He still couldn’t quite read Keith. Was he staring because he thought Shiro was crazy? Creepy? Had he simply forgotten that he’d lent it to him?

Keith pushed Shiro’s outstretched hand away. Shiro’s shoulders hiked up self-consciously. “Keep it,” he told him. His expression was almost shy, eyes not quite meeting Shiro’s. He seemed about as lost in this weird friendship as Shiro was feeling.

Shiro knew he was staring now. Could feel the moment grow thin. But something in him was delighted. He couldn’t quite pinpoint where it was originating from but he suddenly realized he’d been holding his breath and let go of what he hoped seemed to be a light-hearted sigh. He fumbled for a response that didn’t make him look as stupid as he knew he already seemed.

“Uh,” he started, eyes sliding to the boards of the porch under Keith’s boots. “Thanks.” He finally settled on. Keith gave him one of those rare, genuine smiles and that delighted bit inside Shiro trilled a bit louder. “Yeah,” Shiro muttered, trailing off.

“Yeah,” Keith echoed. He looked highly amused as Shiro fished for something else to say and came up empty handed. “See you tomorrow,” Keith laughed a little.

Keith disappeared inside with a click of metal, and Shiro held the Humvee blade a little tighter.

When Shiro finally climbed back into the hatchback he should have known what was awaiting him.

“No kiss good night?” Pidge ribbed, leaning in between the front seats. “I’m disappointed.”

“Shiro is too much of a gentleman for PDA,” Hunk argued.

“Ugh, what is with your face?” Pidge asked. She poked at one of Shiro’s cheeks and he was suddenly aware that he felt warm. One hand landed on the knife now nestled at home in his pocket while the other shot out to push Pidge’s arm away. She just snickered and pinched his ear.

“There’s nothing wrong with my face!” Shiro cried.

“So Keith let you keep the knife, huh?” Pidge looked so smug Shiro considered throwing himself out of the moving car. He knew they would have been watching the exchange from the street, but they were giving it all an unnecessary significance that made Shiro want to smash his face against the glass to just avoid the looks they were giving him.

Hunk glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Boyfriends share things,” Hunk supplied with a grin.

“Oh gag me,” Shiro bit, a little put-out at the unfair double-team he was getting over absolutely _nothing_.

“Oh I’m sure Keith would like to,” Pidge cackled. Hunk laughed so hard he had to slam the breaks. Shiro knew that if he hadn’t been red before, his face was the spectral colour of mortification now.

“ _Katlin Holt!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I haven't forgotten about Lance.


	4. just what i needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is bad at decisions. And feelings. And talking. He's a disaster. Just go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically the one month of the year that's most relevant to this series I ended up being the busiest and not able to work on it at all. Classic lmao
> 
> Super rough, I apologize. I promise I'll come back to it once things settle down again.
> 
> Hit me up with your thoughts fam (I need it)
> 
> Chapter title from "Just What I Needed" by The Cars, a personal favourite of mine.

“What about here?” Shiro tapped a strangely shaped section of the map about halfway across town. Keith’s eyes followed, brows furrowing as he tried to reorient himself to the streets Shiro was circling with his pen.

“The old middle school?” He asked.

Shiro nodded. “It’s big, a bit secluded since this section of town is kinda dying with people moving out, but it’s close enough to town that they’d be able to hunt. It’s only a couple miles from where Matt was taken, too.”

“Plausible,” Keith agreed with a tip of his chin. Shiro marked it down.

“I feel like we’ve covered most of the city. Extend much further and we’d be getting out of town limits,” Pidge chipped in. She leaned back to study the comprehensive map they’d put together from all their solo research. A few old dilapidated apartment complexes near the east end from the Caplar Housing Project in the 70’s before it lost funding, the chapel just north of the Garrison and library, the middle school to the southwest from their focal point, and a couple abandoned gas stations a little further than that off the highway that curved around the south end that no one used since the new bridge opened up in 1980. It wasn’t a big town but taking into account how much ground there was to cover in the housing complexes alone, it felt like they’d never find Matt.

Shiro’s shoulders felt heavy with the thought.

“Let’s pack to head out, then.” Keith hauled himself to his feet, grappling around behind the couch for his boots. Shiro spaced for a second, staring as Keith stretched over the back of the couch and put the long line of his back on display. Shiro abruptly turned ten various shades of red when he caught Pidge staring him down, one eyebrow cocked knowingly while she laced her sneakers.

Shiro busied himself with his own belongings and tried to ignore Pidge's grin, but he couldn’t help watching the way Keith laced his boots with his nimble, fine fingers – dexterous and quick. Definitely lethal.

Shiro just found something about Keith so entrancing. His fluid movements, the confident yet cautious way he held himself. The odd little twitch at the corner of his mouth when he found something Shiro had done amusing. He always ground his teeth, the muscle of his jaw working while he mentally picked away at a problem or lost himself in concentration. A million and one little quirks Shiro had observed and cataloged in the short span of days he had spent in Keith’s presence, each more interesting than Shiro thought they had right to be.

He knew damn well what his problem was, but part of him was spiteful of Pidge and Hunk’s constant ribbing. And he was feeling a little hesitant to imagine Keith’s reaction if Shiro _did_ try to make a move. He’d seen Keith tinker with the weapons in his father’s house long enough to know that Keith could murder him at least ten different ways with ease and no one would be any the wiser.

A decent way to go out, Shiro’s traitorous brain offered.

Keith appeared beside him, pack over his shoulder. “Ready?” He asked, and Shiro couldn't stop himself from jumping.

Shiro wasn’t ready for anything; to leave the house, to hunt literal fucking monsters, to face what might have been the last time he’d seen his best friend, to deal with Keith’s adorably concerned stupid face as he watched Shiro work through his own internal griping.

“Hangin’ in there?” Keith asked, softer this time, a little of his natural accent slipping through like honey. It made Shiro wobble a little where he sat pinned by Keith’s concern. Pidge snorted from where she was posted up by the door, impatient to leave and rolling her eyes.

“He hasn’t been feeling well,” she butted in. Tone sickly sweet as she gave Shiro the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen from her. It could only be rivaled by the time in 9th grade when Matt found out he had a crush on the guy next to him in their math class, so he pretended to trip and ended up literally shoving Shiro into the guys’ lap.

Based on the looks Pidge had been giving him, Shiro had every right to be fearful. One should always be fearful of a Holt. God fucking forbid she gets Hunk involved again. But at least Hunk could be sympathetic.

“If you’re not feeling good you could go home. I’ll take care of this,” Keith told him. He leaned down to peer into Shiro’s face. All Shiro could see was how sincere Keith was in his concern. It was so sweet he felt his heartbeat double at the little furrow between Keith’s dark brows, the tense of his jaw as he worried. Shiro wanted to run his hands through his stupid mess of dark hair that he swore he never fucking brushed. How could someone who had been trained to hunt and kill from birth be so endearing?

Shiro reached for the map to his left where it still lay on the floor, studying all the circles they had placed. _Focus_ , Shiro snapped at himself. _Matt’s missing and you’re thinking about hooking up with Keith Kogane. What the fuck is wrong with you._

“I feel fine, let’s get going.” Shiro dragged himself to his feet, rubbing a hand across one arm self-consciously as he noticed Keith still staring at him. It was unnerving. He was sure Keith was just concerned, the two having slowly gravitated towards becoming actual friends, but something about the unreadable look in Keith’s eyes always set him on edge. He always wondered what was going on in that clever brain of his. Could he see through Shiro’s stuttering and embarrassment as easily as the others had?

Before Pidge could snark at them to stop eye-fucking as Shiro _knew_ she was going to by the look on her face, the phone in Keith’s kitchen rang and jarred both Shiro and Keith out of whatever weird little bubble they had entered. They both looked to the phone before turning back to stare at one another. Something about hunting vampires just put Shiro on edge.

The phone rang again. “I’m not getting it,” Shiro declared, holding his hands up when Keith rolled his eyes.

“Chicken shit,” Keith called back as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“It’s _your_ house!” Shiro complained.

Shiro heard the clatter of him taking the phone off the hook, just around the bend of kitchen doorway. He greeted the caller before stepping back into view to lean against the threshold. He crossed one ankle over the other as he listened to whoever was on the other end, shoulders pushed back and one hand fidgeting with the curl of the cord. The image made Shiro’s fingers twitch.

He pretended to study the fading wallpaper behind a cork-board to avoid looking at either Keith or Pidge.

“Uh,” Keith dragged the sound out, like he was stalling for time. Shiro turned to find Keith staring at Pidge, looking a bit panicked. He faltered as the voice on the other end continued grumbling. “Yeah, she’s here.” He answered before holding the receiver out towards Pidge. “It’s for you.”

‘ _What the fuck?_ ’ She mouthed before taking it. He just shrugged and gave both her and Shiro an unreadable look.

“Hello?” Pidge answered. More grumbling from the other end, louder now. A bit angry, almost. Wide-eyed, Pidge sputtered. “No, we – “ but the voice continued on, cutting off her sentences twice. She raised her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.” She placed the receiver back in its cradle with a little more force than necessary. She returned to the living room to grab her bag with an irritable set to her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Keith tried.

She shucked her bag straps over one arm, looking bitter. “I told my mom I was spending the afternoon at Lance’s. She called to ask if I’d be home for dinner and no one had seen me so Lance suggested calling Hunk. Hunk apparently gave her your dad’s house number.” She groaned. “I’m going to kill him.””

“Are you grounded?” Shiro asked. He wasn’t sure how they would manage with himself _and_ Pidge on lockdown. They were barely covering enough ground as it was, and he was only just getting his own mom to lay off his case a bit.

“Dunno, but my mom’s pretty pissed. I gotta head home,” she muttered.

“Hunk didn’t tell your mom anything about what we’re doing, did he?” Keith asked.

Pidge waved one hand flippantly. “There was no mention of ‘why are you hunting the undead’ so I’m going to assume not.”

Keith tossed Shiro an appraising look over his shoulder. Shiro couldn’t quite read it. “Shiro and I will check out the east side on our own tonight, then.”

Shiro settled one hand on Pidge’s shoulder, trying to look reassuring. He may have been the oldest in the group but he sure as hell felt the least prepared or stable. “We’ll regroup tomorrow at school and see where we can go from there.”

Pidge left with a quick goodbye, leaving Keith and Shiro alone in the front room with an armful of maps and a bag of weapons. Idly, Shiro wondered how they’d ever explain this to anyone. He tried not to think about it too hard.

“Guess it’s just you and me today,” Keith said with a lopsided smile. A bit awkward, entirely endearing. It made Shiro grin as well, even though his best friend was missing and he was about to probably go get himself killed by vampires. Something about Keith made him feel a little okay anyway. Maybe that was just exactly what he needed.

“Oh no, whatever will I do,” Shiro muttered with a deadpan expression that made Keith laugh. The short, rough bark-type of laugh that made Shiro’s stomach knot up. Keith bumped shoulders with him as he made for the door, smile toothy. 

“Better be careful, Shirogane. Haven’t you heard? I’m spooky.” Keith chuckled, wiggling his fingers at Shiro like he was going to cast a spell, and Shiro shoved his hands deep down into his jean pockets. Just for safety’s sake.

-

The middle school had been closed down only four years before, after the city council had pushed for a new school project – preferably one that didn’t have dripping pipes and faulty electricity and rotting stairs. The plan got pushed through within two years, the construction of the new middle school only two blocks from the Garrison taking half that time, and Rolan Middle School was condemned until the city found enough fucks to demolish it. Which ultimately meant it was still standing.

Which in turn meant that the local teens all found the dark, busted windows and rotting CAUTION tape to be a challenge. Dares to enter, dares to stay over night alone. The typical thing you’d expect from teenagers raised on southern gothic lore and fantasy novels.

It looked exactly as it had the last time Shiro had driven past it with Matt in the back of the Holt’s family car. The front windows were cracked, the grounds overgrown with weeds, the light fixtures above the entrances smashed. The doors themselves were covered in illegible spray paint graffiti and old police tape. The three-stories of brick and glass loomed over Shiro and Keith as they approached from the back street and Shiro felt himself wilt a little under its grey shadow.

Neither spoke for a long moment. The air was heavy with the warning of rain and the clouds were steadily darkening like spilled charcoal, churning overhead in a way that made Shiro feel uneasy.

“Matt dared me to go in once,” Shiro started. The two boys began up the stone steps to the west entrance and Keith eyed him strangely.

“Did you?” Keith prompted. He placed one hand against the warping wood door, pressing inward to test its strength. Shiro watched the flex of his bicep and laughed a little at the idea.

“No,” Shiro smiled. “Told him it was stupid. We’d get killed.”

Keith shuffled backwards a few steps and Shiro followed suit to give him room. “Scaredy cat,” Keith accused, smiling over his shoulder. He shifted his stance so his right foot slid forward, shoulders squared. He seemed to be mulling something over. Measuring distance.

“Hey!” Shiro objected. “I’m here breaking in with you, aren’t I?” He settled his right hand over his heart in mock offense but Keith didn’t answer him. Instead he shifted his weight to his left and struck out with his right foot in a front kick that connected next to the lock. The wood under his boot splintered from the force with a crack, and a second kick made something groan before the door swung inwards on what was left of its rusted hinges.

Keith fell back into a neutral stance before smiling at Shiro from over his shoulder. “Lucky me.”

It took Shiro a painfully long moment to realize that he had been referring to Shiro’s previous statement, and felt himself go a little red. Both with embarrassment and with the rush of pure awe he felt watching Keith kick open a door.

He ground his teeth as he followed his companion inside, mostly to stop himself from saying something stupid. Like a marriage proposal. 

Keith stopped in the middle of the hall and Shiro hesitated at his elbow. To their left was a hallway filled with classrooms, to their right were the doors to the auditorium. A little ways ahead was the east entrance and the stairs that led to the other floors. Keith scrunched his nose a little, glancing around.

“I wish I didn’t remember this place as well as I do,” he grumbled.

Shiro trailed over to the empty glass case nestled against the wall between the two auditorium doors. He pressed the pads of his fingers to its dusty surface, watching them streak through the grime.

“I played soccer in 6th grade. Our team won some tournament that spring. They kept the trophy in here on the bottom left.” Shiro sighed, feeling heavy at the sudden onslaught of memories. “God, I’d completely forgotten.”

“6th grade was the only year I was here, the year dad and I moved up from Texas. Then they moved us all to the new building.”

Keith began down the hallway to their left, a straight and narrow space with speckled tile in salmon and beige, dusty blue lockers between the classrooms. Most of the doors were shut but unlocked. Their glass windows darkened with years of dust. Shiro remembered it as the 8th grade hallway. Remembered thinking how much older and mature his upper classman had seemed, how he had never imagined returning to this place with a knife and a crucifix to find his best friend.

He glanced back to the arches of the entrance, the busted wood door, and tried to imagine all the insignificant mornings he and Matt had stumbled in off the bus. The thought left his heart heavy.

When he turned back Keith was giving him a strange look. Eyes soft, and the set of his mouth unreadable. Shiro wouldn’t let himself dwell on how charming he looked, cast in mote-specked light from the high windows.

“Let’s get going,” Keith whispered, but the velvet of his voice seemed to carry for miles. Shiro followed him without hesitation.

The two made quick work of the first floor. Keith took the left side of the hall, Shiro the right. Many of the doors stuck, the aging wood swelling with the last of the summer heat and rain. Backs to the thresholds and knives in hand they moved methodically; jimmy the door open as quietly as possible, clear the room, move on to the next. But the rooms were mostly the same – a few busted desks and chairs left behind from the mass schoolboard exodus, windows painted shut with broad strokes of chipping white paint. Painfully empty and unremarkable.

“Nothing,” Shiro muttered, his tone trailing off and shoulders slumping. Keith seemed to read the disappointment Shiro carried. He let his hand fall on Shiro’s shoulder, and part of Shiro almost wished it wasn’t as comforting as it was. Keith continued to let it rest there, a warm reminder over the thick fabric of his NASA hoodie, as he guided the older teen to the main stairs. 

Shiro felt an overwhelming need to run his own hands over Keith’s sharp knuckles and the little blade scars along the curve of his palm. The idea came to him so naturally. Their closeness felt so simple. Shiro fell a half-step behind on the stairs, hoping it would put some distance between them. Keith accepted this well enough and dropped his hand without much of a glance.

Shiro huffed at himself, irritable, as he tried to understand the conflict he felt in Keith Kogane’s presence. The closeness, the casual touches – it made him feel guilty. But the distance almost made him feel hollow. Like he was staring into a trench with the universe screaming at him to jump.

The angry sigh caught Keith’s attention, but he didn’t stop their trek up the cracked tile steps. “Doin’ okay back there?”

“Yeah,” Shiro assured. He ran his right hand along the wooden handrail attached to the wall, feeling out all the dips and bumps that his younger self had never even noticed. “Just thinking.”

“Get out of your head,” Keith told him. He looked back at Shiro, and he could read the warning there even in the heavy shadows. _We’re here for a reason._

The second floor was a square section similar to the first, but too far from the high windows of the entrance hall for any proper light to see by. Keith dug two heavy-duty flashlights out of his pack and tossed one to Shiro. They flickered to life a little weakly but held steady. Shiro tapped the light against his palm, feeling out the weight. Keith caught the movement and grinned.

“Clocked a werewolf with one of these once,” he dropped casually. He looked almost concerned after the words left his mouth. He never seemed one hundred percent comfortable sharing anecdotes from his hunting life. Like he thought Shiro would think he was crazy, or say something nasty. But Shiro craved this intimacy like an adrenaline rush. 

“How exactly did that happen?” Shiro couldn’t help laughing a little. Keith rolled his eyes and pressed his shoulders back against the wall.

“Bit of a long story,” he said before making his way to the first classroom on the left. Shiro trailed behind, quiet. He watched Keith’s tense shoulders from behind as he fought the door open. He was hesitant with his response. There was a right way to approach this, but Shiro wasn’t confident that he had parsed out how just yet.

“I like hearing your stories, you know,” Shiro told him. Keith turned just enough to appraise him, the cylinder of his flashlight falling between their feet.

“You guys think I’m as crazy as everyone else in this school does,” Keith accused lightly. He smiled and Shiro heard the self-deprecation in the laugh that followed. It made something in him curl up, sickly at the notion.

“I’ve never once thought you were crazy,” Shiro declared. There was no hesitation, no need for evaluation. He trusted Keith Kogane whole-heartedly, and if that made him a fool, well – he’d already accepted that when he nearly chased him the whole way home, begging for his help.

Keith’s expression softened considerably, melting with surprise. It was like watching a tower crumble. Or a shield split in two. Keith’s lips parted on a hesitant breath, as if he wanted to respond, but he was silent for a long moment. Shiro counted his own heartbeat and waited.

Goddamn he wanted to kiss him.

Keith turned away. Eyed the broken tiles under his feet, and took a shaky breath. “Thanks,” was all he managed before entering the classroom. Shiro hovered at the door, one hand against the chipping paint of the threshold, and wondered if he had overstepped. 

Keith gave the room a thorough sweep before returning to Shiro’s side. He made to move past him so Shiro shuffled back nervously. Ran a hand through the short shear of his undercut and followed Keith to the next room with his head low.

“I’m sorry, if I made you uncomfortable,” Shiro tried. Keith looked up from the doorknob in his hands to meet Shiro’s eyes. “Just now,” Shiro clarified weakly. He was aware he probably sounded like an idiot but he needed Keith to know, to understand where Shiro stood.

Keith’s eyes widened, confused. “You didn’t. Not at all.” He didn’t continue for a long moment and Shiro had to remind himself to be patient. Every time he thought he could read Keith Kogane he hit a new wall, and the whiplash was frustrating.

Keith’s eyes fell to the flashlight in his hands, the blunt of his nails digging into the compartment ridges with an anxiety Shiro didn’t understand. “I’m just not used to this,” he finally managed. His voice was almost lost to the howl of wind against the building. The storm was picking up.

“ _This_ , as in…” Shiro tried to prompt. His heart felt like it might constrict and kill him right on the spot. 

Keith’s cheeks seemed to colour, but Shiro couldn’t be sure with how dark the second floor was. “Having someone that I think of as… a friend. We moved a lot. And I was always the weird kid, ya know?” He looked away again. “It’s been nice. Having you and Pidge around.”

Shiro had no idea what to say to that. It almost felt like a goodbye, somehow. As if he was expecting Shiro to turn tail and run the second they found Matt. The idea made his heart feel as if it was breaking. He didn’t want to leave Keith, didn’t want to forget about him and move on – he didn’t think he could, after everything. He wasn’t sure _anything_ would return to normal after all this.

Shiro helped finish up the rooms to the right before stopping to watch Keith clear the last room on the second level. The determined set of his shoulders, and the hard line of his jaw, hidden against his collar with the shifting shadows. The careful way he navigated the crumbling tile under his boots with a grace Shiro was sure he could never imitate. Keith turned then, catching Shiro’s eyes, and smiled – a little, gentle thing that made Shiro want to cradle Keith’s cheek in his palm and hold him close.

He couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Keith Kogane now that he had been close enough to sleep on his shoulder in study hall and steal his fries at lunch. How do you let go of a person who had given you hope again after you had lost everything?

“Are you alright?” Keith was at his elbow now, looking Shiro over with concern.

“No,” he muttered, unsure of his own plight but knowing that his heart pounded with unease at the thought of passing Keith in the hallways as if they had never met. Neither boy looked away, caught in one another’s orbit for longer than Shiro knew to be proper. Keith didn’t press for details. Simply shared this moment in the dark with him, and Shiro was deeply grateful. There was a distant patter, and Shiro felt the low rumble of thunder before he understood what it was.

“The storm’s starting,” Keith told him. 

“Let’s keep moving, then,” Shiro sighed into the small space between them. “We have one floor left, and then the basement.”

Another heavy shuffle of thunder overhead, much closer this time. Keith seemed to be caught unawares, jumping in alarm before casting a wary look over his shoulder to the rain-smattered windows behind them. Shiro tried to hide his amusement.

“Scared of storms?” He asked, hand covering his smile and muffling his words. Keith caught the tone rather quickly, whipping his head around to fix Shiro with a decidedly unamused glare.

“Let’s just go,” he grumbled. He swiped at Shiro’s free hand, using it to drag him in a rush to the open stairwell. Shiro was more than happy to be led with Keith’s warm palm in his, and tried not to read into the fact that he didn’t let go till they reached the top floor and needed to split up to finish their job.

“I go left, you go right?” Keith waved his flashlight. Shiro clinked his own against Keith’s in solidarity, wearing a matching grin, and the two set to work.

The third floor yielded no results other than more dusty rooms with low hanging cobwebs and weak-paned windows with dark spots of mold and water damage crawling up their sides like ivy. The rain had began to come down heavy, pooling in from the cracks in the ceiling and windows. The booming thunder grew closer with each room they searched. Keith seemed a little more tense with every sheet of lightning that lit up the black clouds.

Keith rejoined Shiro in the hallway, the last room closed behind them. “Anything?” Shiro begged.

The hunter shook his head, expression solemn and a little drawn. “No signs of any clan moving through here – no nesting, no left-over prey. It’s completely clean.”

A small part of Shiro was glad that they weren’t in any immediate danger, but that part was vastly overshadowed by the knowledge that they were no closer to finding Matt than they had been a week ago. Shiro could feel the sands of an unseen hourglass quickly slipping by them. How many days had they wasted following cold trails and empty nests? How many days could Matt have left?

Shiro scrubbed his hands over his face, pressing the heels into his eyes until he saw a swirling cosmos. “Goddammit,” he shuddered.

There were warm hands against his own now, prying them away with a strength Shiro couldn’t fight. And then he saw Keith – kind, brave Keith – standing in front of him, holding both his wrists firm, and staring at him with such pleading that Shiro forgot his own anxieties for a moment.

“Don’t,” Keith whispered, sounding a little panicked himself. “Don’t lose your cool. We’re not giving up, okay? We’ll figure it out. But you need to trust me.” Keith stared, eyes wide and dark and beautiful. “Do you trust me?”

Shiro dropped his hands, and Keith let him, but the hunter’s hands followed – fingers skimming the pulse on the inside of his wrist and resting there as if they belonged. Shiro was starting to believe they did. “Of course,” Shiro whispered back, his voice coming out so soft he wasn’t sure if Keith could hear him over the hammering of the rain. “Of course I trust you, Keith.”

A new roil of thunder boomed overhead and the power of it made Keith tremble and press his palm back into Shiro’s – a clumsy, panicked rush in the fading flashes of lightning. Shiro accepted the touch without a thought. Wrapped his long fingers around the cold sweat on Keith’s hand and folded the hunter's strong frame into Shiro’s arms. There was a furious pounding in his chest where Keith rested, and the upperclassman fought to count his own unsteady breaths as he wrapped both arms around his companion and cradled Keith to his chest. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Shiro admitted, pressing his cheek to Keith’s mess of dark hair. He felt Keith shudder against him at the whisper. “What if we don’t find him?” He asked, voice cracking a little.

The crash of rain was violent, pelting at the glass of the windows in the decrepit classrooms on all sides. The smell of must only intensified as rain poured in through the busted glass and bowed roofing somewhere nearby. Another ungodly rumble of thunder, so loud it seemed to shake the walls, and Shiro felt Keith press against him more solidly. Hands twisted into Shiro’s hoodie, hips pressed to his own. Shiro leaned back against the wall and Keith rocked with him as easily as if Shiro had willed it.

“Don’t think like that,” Keith chided. His voice was nearly drowned out by the clattering of the rain all around them, so Shiro pressed closer. Nose against the cut of Keith’s cheek and his breath falling damp against the Texan boys’ jaw. Keith was speaking into Shiro’s ear, and the roughness of his accent made Shiro’s spine curl. “That’ll get you both killed. You have to keep fighting, till the end.”

Shiro pulled back to seek out Keith’s eyes. The dark blue was indiscernible from the dark of the room, and Keith still held fast to him as if he was something precious. “I’m terrified of what the end will be, Keith. This feels impossible,” Shiro whimpered.

“I’ve seen the impossible,” Keith told him, firm and sure despite the wariness in his eyes. Shiro felt the warmth of Keith’s palm slide over his jaw, cradle his cheek and hold him steady. “I’ll be with you,” he told him with all the conviction Shiro couldn't fathom. 

Shiro adored him.

He wasn’t sure who moved first. The dimness of the hall hid them both, made Shiro feel confident enough to wrap one hand low around the muscle of Keith’s waist and let the other wander into the dark waves of Keith’s hair as they fell into one kiss, and then two. 

Keith kissed like he lived; a little rough, but earnest and unapologetic. It was messy and fast and deep, and it made Shiro’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, lift the material just enough to run his thumb along the warm skin just about his waist band. It pulled a sound from Keith. A simple hum that Shiro swore he could feel down to the marrows of his bones.

He felt greedy, but Keith wrapped those nimble fingers around Shiro’s neck, hauled him closer and let Shiro take his fill.

Keith was the one to move away with the need for breath. The wet _pop_ of their lips separating sent something primal down Shiro’s spine and he was no longer sure if he had understood pure, unfiltered sexual attraction until now. Until he was graced with looking at Keith Kogane’s kiss swollen lips, pliant and warm in Shiro’s unsure hands.

Keith panted against Shiro’s own slick mouth and stroked one thumb across Shiro’s cheekbone, staring at him as though he was a man dying of thirst trying to parse out the mirage from his reality.

The memory of Keith wielding his father’s switchblades, of these same hands along his neck and face taking apart a shotgun with practiced ease, flitted across Shiro’s mind. Keith could completely dismantle him and put him together again as easily as he had with his hunting gear. Shiro was vaguely aware that such a thing should make him weary, but all he wanted in that moment was for Keith to do exactly that.

_I can never tell Matt that my type is guys who can kick my ass, he’d never let me live it down,_ Shiro thought with a wry grin.

Keith traced the smile with his eyes. Shiro pulled Keith back to him, gentle, and pressed his lips to Keith’s temple. Spoke into the warm skin there.

“Should we chance going out in this storm?” He asked. Keith closed his eyes and rocked further into him, thighs slotted together. Shiro dug his fingers deeper into the heat of Keith’s side, rolling his hips unconsciously to seek the friction of Keith’s body fit so tight to his own. Keith followed the motion like a man possessed. Chased Shiro’s lips where he had begun to mouth against Keith’s jawline, and bit into the swell of his lower lip. 

Shiro groaned, following Keith’s mouth as he made to pull away and dragging him into another messy kiss with a satisfied laugh. Keith rolled his hips up into Shiro’s again and Shiro briefly considered the probability of convincing Keith to let Shiro suck him off right here. Only part of him was ashamed of how quickly Keith had managed to get him hard with all his clothes on in the middle of what essentially looked like a movie set for a serial killer.

There was a shattering scream from below, a tortured wail of some unearthly creature that rivaled the torrential downpour and made Shiro’s blood freeze before he had even pulled himself away from Keith’s spit-slicked mouth.

Both boys froze, not quite moving away from one another as the screech tapered off into nothing. No sound followed, just the pounding of the rain and the crash of storm-heavy thunder. Shiro heaved a slow, shuddering breath.

“What the fuck was that,” he whispered into Keith’s flushed cheek.

Keith muttered something, short and sharp and almost angry. Shiro didn’t quite catch it. Keith was still clinging to him. His hands digging into the thick of Shiro’s arms. His dark eyes sought out Shiro’s, the heat from the moment before gone and his expression startlingly haunted.

“Downstairs. We didn’t check the basement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super based on my old middle school, which was creepy and terrifying even before it was closed down. I refused to go in because another kid and me both thought we saw someone standing in one of the upstairs windows after it got closed down and I wasn't bout to fuck with no demons lmao
> 
> Happy Halloween, ya'll

**Author's Note:**

> i hope my love of Queen is apparent.
> 
> i'd love to hear feedback, questions, anything on this series since it's something that i've been wanting to write for a long time but i was so worried that i wouldn't write horror well enough. hey, you're never really prepared to face your fears - just gotta go headlong into it. so leave me a comment, or scream at me on Twitter (@grumpygamernisa), and let's all just collectively scream over s6.


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